


Charming Chocolates

by fantom_ftnoise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (NOT between Harry/Draco), (again NOT between Harry/Draco), Alcohol, Amnesia, Angst, BSL, Blood, Chocolate, Chocolate Shop, Chocolatier Harry, Confused pining, Disability, Dyslexia, EWE, Emotional Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Healer Draco, Hurt/Comfort, I'm talking 90k-later-and-he-just-kissed-his-hand type of slow burn, Identical Twins, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Memory Loss, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Illegal Potions and Addiction, Mentions of Racism, Mentions of a mother dying in childbirth, Mind Healer Draco, Mute - Freeform, Mute Harry, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Mystery, None of those things are featured on screen but they are mentioned, Oblivious Harry, POC Harry's Kids, Pining, PoC Harry, Possibly Frustrating Slow Burn, Romance, Scottish Accents, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Twins, brief scenes of intoxication, twin hijinks, walking cane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 100,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantom_ftnoise/pseuds/fantom_ftnoise
Summary: The summer following the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter visited his parents' graves and disappeared in a mysterious attack. His wand was recovered but the trail soon went cold and the world moved on. Twelve years later, Remus Lupin discovers James Charming, of Charming Chocolates, a mute man with no memories before July of 1998.James Charming, father of identical twin boys and loving boyfriend to a Scottish Muggle named Monty, is ripped out of his comfortable life and forced to rediscover Hogwarts, magic, and a whole world of past memories.  His Mind Healer helps him to balance his new life with his old memories.  A rift is formed between James and Monty, and he finds himself wanting to spend more and more time with Healer Malfoy.  Meanwhile, Auror Weasley tries to solve the mystery of who is out for Harry Potter's head before it's too late.





	1. Son of a Prongs

**Author's Note:**

> Canon through DH, not Epilogue-compliant, also Remus Lupin lives because I can't write a chocolate shop setting without that disaster of a man.
> 
> This may be irritatingly slow-burn but I promise plenty of sweet (wink wink) moments between Harry and Draco. Rated T, there's some violence/blood, swearing, and crude references/UST but no actual smut. James may seem OOC at times but Harry is in there! He's just picked up some quirks to deal with the trauma of losing a lifetime of memories. (For example: Harry loved mess and chaos [hello Burrow], and James likes things to look warm and busy but remain neat and in order.) Cool? Cool.
> 
> Because I'm forgoing proper BSL grammar and because we're not actually watching the conversations take place, the sign language may seem a little stilted/off (no contractions, simple sentences). I recommend that you just take in the overall meaning of what's said rather than getting hung up on the phrasing, otherwise it may seem OOC/robotic. Full disclosure: I'm HOH and learning/using ASL, so this story came into being with a mute character, but I have zero experience with BSL.
> 
>  __Find me on[tumblr!](https://fantom-ftnoise.tumblr.com/)

**July 15th, 2010: Thursday**

"Have a biscuit, Remus."

"Thank you, Minerva." He smiled warmly, digging a ginger snap from the proffered tin. "What can I do for you?" he asked as he bit in.

"It's a wonderful problem to have, don't mistake me," McGonagall sighed from behind the Headmistress's desk, handing over a long piece of parchment. No less than three dozen names were listed; a quarter of the names had sharp little checks next to them. "We haven't had this many Muggleborns on the register in nearly a century! But I only have so much time to make these visits, and Filius won't return for another three weeks, Hagrid is still in Romania, Neville can't be spared from Greenhouse Ten... I'm afraid I have to start cutting the holidays short for the rest of our staff if we're to get anywhere with this list before August."

"I certainly don't mind," Remus said amicably, scanning the parchment.

Aberdeen, Scotland:   
_Charming, Alexander  
_ _Charming, Arthur_

"You've tackled the first few, but I'd've thought you'd prefer to start in your very own Scotland?"

McGonagall gave him a sharp look over her spectacles. "Don't think I haven't noticed those little parcels you squirrel away every month. I suspect I won't have to twist your arm to get you to visit Charming Chocolates in person."

"Do you know," Remus grinned broadly, "it'll be my first proper visit? Found them in a Muggle mail-order catalog at the Hogsmeade post office."

"Well, now they can put a face to the name for their best customer," she quipped fondly. "Perhaps make your purchases first, I rather think they might close up for the day when you start with the spells."

Remus left the office with a happy flutter in his chest, browsing the rest of the list. He set an ambitious goal for himself: three visits in one day. That would certainly earn him a guilt-free box of chocolates from his favorite shop. A spring in his step, Remus set out to Kent to visit one  _Langley, Imogen._

 

* * *

 

Six hours later, Remus hustled down a street teeming with couples, families, kids, and teenagers. The crowd around him moved lazily in the summer heat; people wandered aimlessly in and out of the quaint little shops and restaurants that dotted Bell Street. He tried not to get impatient, but intense smells and loud noises pressed in on him from all sides. His patched Muggle clothes scratched at his skin every time someone brushed by and he very much wanted to call it a day and Apparate back home to Teddy.

But he had promised himself a heaping box of chocolates if he could make three visits today, and by Merlin he would get it.

Charming Chocolates was a tiny establishment squeezed between a loudly colored tea shop and a boutique that seemed to mostly cater to elderly women. Bright red awning, trimmed in gold, covered the front of the chocolate shop, and a matching red door carried a sign: _"Our family business closes at 7:00 sharp."_  His watch read 6:55pm and with a panicked lurch in his stomach, Remus barged through the door.

If he was uncomfortable on the crowded street, he was in hell now. The shop was no bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside -  _Muggles_ , he reminded himself,  _have to make do without wizard space_ \- and it was packed with shelves, bins, chocolates, and people. A dark wooden floor, old, scratched, and polished; a matching dark wooden ceiling with low beams that nearly touched Remus's head and did not improve his claustrophobia. There were too many colors, sounds, and smells to distinguish. Even the walls were busy: floor to ceiling, the cream-colored walls were covered in neatly arranged shelves, newspaper cut-outs, photos, even sketches and paintings. He couldn't even begin to guess what a blond man sporting an archer's kit had to do with chocolates, but he was the subject of several posted drawings.

"Welcome tae Charming Chocolates!" a friendly Scottish man called out from the left, somewhere near the front counter. "We close in five, so get to it!" Remus nodded vaguely in the direction of the voice and shuffled through the crowd, heading for a more deserted back corner.

True to his word, the man at the counter seemed determined to close up shop despite the potential for business on a mild summer night. He cleared the crowd at top speed and within minutes, Remus found himself the last customer.

The shop looked completely different when it was deserted: modest in size, it featured several narrow display cases crammed together in the middle of the room, showing off an enticing array of shiny chocolates, cheerful gift-boxes, and brightly colored foil. Behind the long front counter was a door with a gold hand-plate on it - presumably to push through to the kitchen - and a doorway that revealed a lopsided set of stairs leading up.

"Check out now or come back tomorrow, ma friend!" the Scotsman called, closing the cash drawer. "Got tae get dinner started fer the wee ones."

"Actually, I'm here to speak with the family of Alexander and Arthur Charming," Remus began, pulling out two identical sealed letters.

"Are ye?" he seemed delighted with the surprise. "An' what d'ye want wae ma boys?" The man lifted a section of the counter and stepped through, hurrying over to the door. In one smooth motion, he flipped the sign to closed and locked the door. Then he waved cheerily through the window at the disappointed face of a young woman on the other side. He was a stout man, average height with thick arms that were covered in coarse hair. Golden-brown curls on his head and rosy cheeks made him look like a child that had gotten hold of a wand and tried to disguise himself into an adult.

"My name is Remus Lupin, I work for a school in Northern Scotland," he went on. "I was hoping to sit down with your family to discuss your boys' acceptance into our program." Program. One of the Muggle parents earlier that day had used that word to describe Hogwarts. It seemed fitting.

"Remus Lupin, ye say? Ha!" the man said, lighting up. "I bleedin' well know our  _preferred customers_ , mate, even the mail-order ones! An' this ain' a ploy to get free - "

A loud series of crashes and bangs foretold the arrival of a young boy from upstairs. He stumbled and fell down the last few steps, collapsing in a heap on the ground behind the counter. The crashing continued as a large contraption bounced down the stairs behind him, finally breaking apart into pieces around him. The horn of a gramophone skittered and spun around madly across the floor, eventually coming to a rest at Remus's feet on the other side of the counter. There was a resounding silence as the boy cringed on the floor, hiding his face, and then the man launched into a cacophony of laughter, swears, and accusations.

"...stealin' ya brother's gadgets all a'time! And jus' where were'ya goin' in such a hurry, curry? Runnin' from Alec, no doubt!"

Remus thought he heard the ceiling creak, as if someone were walking around upstairs right above him. He didn't give it much thought - there were at least two Charming children in residence, after all. Then the boy climbed to his feet and lifted his head, looking perfectly contrite, and Remus felt all the air in his lungs whoosh out at once. He had seen that look a thousand times, he himself had helped James Potter  _perfect_ that look and later he saw young Harry wear it in his third year as Remus scolded him for sneaking out -

"Sorry, Monty," Arthur Charming mumbled.

 _"'Sorry, Monty'?!"_ the man echoed incredulously. "'Sorry, Monty,' s'all a ever hear from ya, but never a word'a explanation, no! Up tae no good, a know better!" Monty's back was to Remus and therefore the man missed the moment Remus's brain fizzled to a stop upon hearing those words directed into a young James Potter's face. It was his Hogwarts days - no, it was Harry's third year all over again! "Now tell me," Monty's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Wha's the scam?" The ceiling over Remus's head creaked again - someone was definitely walking around upstairs. Why hadn't they come down to investigate the ruckus? And what was a young Potter lookalike doing in Charming Chocolates?!

"No scam!" Arthur replied quickly, hands twisting in his obnoxiously yellow shirt. "I was helpin' Alec move some things around and - "

"Ha!" Monty barked loudly, stooping low to lift up a jagged piece of whatever Muggle contraption had broken apart. "Tha's a load! ALEC!"

Arthur winced and within moments another set of feet thumped down the stairs, a bit more gracefully this time. An identical boy - brown skin, black hair, wide eyes - dressed in more muted colors stopped at the bottom step, taking in the destruction on the floor with obvious distress.

"Arty, you absolute shit!" he cried. "I  _told_ you!"

"Oi, watch yer language!" the man scolded.

Arthur seemed determined to avoid his brother's accusatory gaze and instead looked anywhere else - eventually noticing Remus.

 _"Montyyy,"_ he nudged the man insistently as Alec began picking up the pieces dejectedly. "Still gotta customer."

"Don' think a customer'll get ye outta trouble, ye chicken nugget!" Monty looked ready to launch into another tirade and Remus finally broke through his shock.

"Alexander and Arthur Charming?" he croaked, blinking rapidly against the bizarre image of  _two Potter boys_ staring back at him curiously. He stepped forward and cleared his throat, running nervous fingers along the envelopes in his hands. "Is your mother around? This is usually a conversation best had as a family."

The boys grimaced and Monty rolled his eyes. "You'll wan' James then," he said.

"James?" The name sent a new wave of static through his brain as he stared at the fidgeting boys.

"Their father."

"I-I'm sorry, I thought you were - " Remus stammered. Didn't this man call them  _his boys_ earlier?

"Their other father," Monty returned quickly, smirking in a way that was nothing less than a challenge. The boys narrowed their eyes, a united front, and Remus suddenly felt warm around the collar.

"Sorry!" he spluttered. "Sorry, I apologize, I'm not - I'm not making a very good impression, am I?" he laughed, sounding manic. Monty quirked a brow. "I only - your boys here, they remind me so much of someone I once knew, years ago," he confessed. "Spitting image, really, only without the glasses."

"Da' wears glasses," Alec muttered. Remus's gaze flicked over to Monty automatically before he remembered there was another father. James.

"So 'e does," Monty conceded, relaxing slightly. "Is that your man there?" he asked casually, pointing a thick finger to a small framed photo that hung on the wall next to the stairway. Remus stepped a bit awkwardly through the opening of the counter and peered at the photo curiously, only to feel his stomach drop out of him.

It was a Muggle photo taken outdoors somewhere, perhaps a park. Arthur and Alec posed in front of a relatively young man that had draped himself over their shoulders, grinning broadly at the camera as he curled his arms up and ruffled the hair of each boy. The man wore a beaten up Muggle cap on his head but Remus could see locks of wild black hair poking out from under it. Most damning of all, though mostly obscured by the hat, was a familiar jagged line that cut down from his forehead over his right eye, looking very much like the tail-end of a bolt of lightning. And those green eyes sparkled at him, happily...

"Y'alright?" Monty asked, poking Remus in the shoulder a bit harder than was strictly necessary.

Remus coughed, attempted to clear his throat, and promptly began choking.

"Er..." Arthur said, staring up at him warily. "D'ye need some water or somethin'?"

Remus felt his face turning red as he tried to suck down some air, but he managed to shake his head in the negative. He could hardly think for want of air, but he knew he was making a decidedly poor first impression.

A glass of water was pushed into his hands anyway and when he eventually managed to drink it down, he felt better...until he glanced at the photo again.

"Do you know," he rasped dumbly, "it's like looking at his twin."  _Harry is alive. Harry has a family. Harry is behind Charming Chocolates!_ Remus didn't know what was going on, but he knew he needed to recover this moment, and he needed some help.

"That may be," Monty answered quietly, sounding strange. All three shared a mysterious look that Remus had no hope of understanding as he thought rapidly of how to recover.

"Is he around? J-James?"

"He'll be home in an hour with take-away," Arthur said, his Scottish accent much lighter than Monty's but still very much present. Frankly, it was surreal to hear that accent from a Potter clone.  _Like James and his spot-on McGonagall impressions!_

"Right, I can return then if you'll pardon the interruption to dinner," Remus said quickly. "I really must insist that both parents are present. It's very important, you see. Very important. Yes, you'll understand once I explain the program, there's quite a bit to go through - "

"Program?" Alec asked.

"What program?" said Arthur.

"Mr. Lupin comes from a school," Monty explained, still staring oddly at Remus. "Wants tae talk t'ye both."

"We've got a school lined up for next term," Arthur said. "Da' said it's all settled."

"We've got our uniforms," his brother added.

"You'll want to hear about Hogw - er, our program," Remus insisted. "Trust me. Shall I return at eight o'clock?"

Monty sighed in a long-suffering way that made Remus think he was trying to sound more put-upon than he actually was, before nodding. Remus went to let himself out the front door but only succeeded in crashing into it before remembering to turn the lock. With a parting wave at the little family that watched him -  _Harry's little family_ \- he escaped back onto the busy street.

The moment he deemed the adjacent alley clear, he Apparated back to Hogsmeade and took off at a sprint toward Hogwarts.  
  
  


* * *

 

An hour later he returned with McGonagall, windswept and breathless. She had listened with rapt attention to his frantic story before she tore into a drawer of personal belongings, retrieved an old photograph, and dragged Remus back out of Hogwarts. Sometimes she hardly seemed to need a cane, but it was at her side anyway, clunking away with every hurried step.

"I don't want your hopes to be dashed if this doesn't turn out, Remus," she said, her voice oddly gentle against the firm line of her mouth as she followed him down the street toward Charming Chocolates. It was darker now, the street lights were on and the crowd was just beginning to thin. "And not a word of this to his friends until we're certain."

"It's him, Minerva," he insisted for what felt like the hundredth time in an hour. "You'll see!" He hadn't lost that manic feeling since he saw the photo on the wall. He could hardly feel his feet as they carried him closer to the shop. To Harry.

"Do you need a Calming Draught?" she asked.

"Do you have one on you?" To his surprise, she offered him a dainty mesh bag of all-too-familiar lemon drops. He chuckled to himself as he popped one in his mouth. Trust Dumbledore to lace his candy with potions…

It was a fraction of a dose, but it calmed the shaking in his limbs and that was enough. She returned the bag of candy to her plain black robes - which seemed to be passing in the dark light of the evening as a modest Muggle dress - just as they reached their destination.

With a steadying breath, Remus reached out and pulled firmly on the doorknob.

The door clanged against its frame but didn't open.

_"Son of a - "_

"Mr. Lupin!" McGonagall hissed as a figure approached from the other side of the door.

"Ah, the prodigal professor returns!" came Monty's voice, slightly muffled through the window of the door. A lock clicked and the door swung open. "And 'e's brought reinforcement!"

"Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts," she answered in an accent that was suddenly thicker than anything Remus had ever heard from her.

"Hogwarts?" Monty snorted, stepping aside and gesturing them inside. "Funny name for a school."

"It's a funny school..." Remus muttered as the strong smell of curry hit his nostrils. Mixed with the sweet scent of chocolate, it was an oddly specific combination that threw him back to his sixth year Christmas holidays at the Potter cottage. He could almost hear Euphemia Potter singing in the kitchen, just out of sight, while the Marauders tore apart the house in raucous holiday fun.

"James's unpackin' the food now, have you eaten?"

"We couldn't impose - " he started, suddenly feeling mortified at the intrusion into Harry's new life.  _He's clearly run away from us for some reason and we're just barging in to ruin what he's spent twelve years building,_ he thought in horror,  _and interrupting dinner while we're at it!_ This was an awful idea. What was he thinking? He should have sucked down a lemon drop earlier, he obviously hadn't been thinking clearly when he went tattling to McGonagall, he had to fix this or Harry would hate him forever -

"Too late for that, come on through!" Monty clapped a warm hand on his shoulder and shoved him through the door behind the front counter.

It swung open to reveal a kitchen the same size as the rest of the shop. A shiny white tile floor and deep red walls greeted him. To the left, old appliances and a huge oven hood took up two walls with a large rack of pots and pans hanging overhead. A spacious island-counter across the middle of the room was covered in neatly-arranged trays of neatly-arranged chocolate drops. With an odd jolt, Remus recognized these treats from the first Charming Chocolates variety-box he had requested via mail-order three years ago.

The other two walls were more homely; less for business, more for family. A heavy wooden table, looking centuries old and impossible to move, jutted out from the wall on the right, some half-dozen mismatched wooden chairs surrounding it. Books and comics were stacked up neatly on the end that was nestled against the wall, and the strangest metallic figure stood at the head of the table:

The short, human-like figure seemed to be made of a hodgepodge of metal and plastic Muggle items. Exposed wires running the length of its "body" were neatly cinched together at regular intervals with plastic ties. Bright, colorful paint gave the illusion of an alien creature wearing modern Muggle fashion. Remus guessed that the artist may have meant for its creation to sport blue skin, red hair, and yellow overalls, but that was the extent of his coherent thoughts on the...thing.

"James?" Monty called out, leading Remus to a seat next to the Thing. He nervously pulled out the chair but couldn't bring himself to sit, lest he find himself eye-level with that expressionless painted face. "There ye are..."

Remus nearly forgot why they were there until he heard McGonagall gasp quietly next to him. She gripped her cane with white knuckles and stared over the head of the Thing as a man emerged from a large pantry, a stack of plates in one hand and a cane of his own in the other.

It was a testament to Dumbledore's old drugged candy that Remus didn't fall to the floor in a dead faint at the sight before him. Harry Potter limped over to the other side of the table and began distributing plates, giving his guests a polite but vague smile. He was much older than when Remus had seen him last - obviously twelve years older, he was just about thirty now! His untamed hair was streaked with greys and his forehead creased into wrinkles as he took in their expressions. Harry shot a questioning look at Monty, who shrugged and made a quick, strange gesture with his hands in reply. Whatever it was, it must have made sense to Harry because he gave a careless shrug in reply and finished placing the plates.

"BOYS!" Monty called. Remus and McGonagall had yet to make a move since Harry's entrance, even when Harry clearly gestured for them to take their seats. Remus wanted to stop staring, wanted to play along with Harry's casual act, but he was stuck...he didn't think he'd ever be unstuck again in his life.

"Mr. Charming, is it?" McGonagall finally spoke. Harry nodded.  _Liar!_ "I haven't had curry in years. Thank you for your hospitality."

Harry offered another small smile and gestured again for them to sit as he took the seat across from Remus. McGonagall sat primly and Remus fell into his seat, scraping the chair on the tile. When Harry leaned his cane (which was painted in a hundred dazzling colors with tiny, seemingly random brushstrokes) against the Thing, an alarming whirring-noise started up from within the Thing's depths. Harry shot it a quelling look and Remus was even more alarmed when the whirring settled back into nothing.  _Is it sentient?_

Footsteps thundered down the stairs behind them and soon they were joined at the table by the twins. Monty sat at Harry's side, Arthur next to Monty, and Alec took the remaining seat next to McGonagall. The Thing clunked ominously at the head of the table.

"Well," Monty said after an awkward pause. "Tuck in!"

The boys didn't need telling twice. They dove into the packages and loaded their plates with more food than Remus thought they could possibly eat in a single day, but there was plenty to go around. Numbly, he reached out and spooned some rice, chicken, and curry onto his plate, accepting a couple of samosas and a piece of naan as the various takeout dishes traveled around the table.

The kitchen was silent with the exception of a few passing remarks from the boys. Monty grunted his approval for some dishes, but otherwise the meal was spent in relative quiet. Remus felt the tension in the air like a vice on his head, getting tighter with each blank, curious, or polite look he received from Harry.

"'McGonagall' did ye say your name was?" Monty asked as they finished their last bites.

"Call me Minerva," she replied, looking from Harry to Monty to Harry again. "I am sorry, I didn't catch your - "

"Montgomery Gibbs," came the reply. "Monty, if ye please."

"A pleasure, Monty." But McGonagall was staring at Harry as she said it, confusion apparent on her face.

"James and a've been together for two years now," Monty explained, clearly thinking to clear up her confusion. "Known each other for a spell before then too - "

"A spell?!" Remus repeated loudly, like a git.

"Er - tha's an expression, right? 'For a spell'? Did a get it wrong?" Monty turned to Harry who smirked and nudged their shoulders together in answer. "Not much of a reader, but am sure tha's a saying."

"Sorry," Remus recovered, wondering how many times in a day he would find himself apologizing to this man. "Only, that brings us to the subject at hand."

"Reading?" said Alec, wrinkling his nose.

"Spells," McGonagall corrected.

Silence descended again and Remus watched Harry's face intently as this unspoken but definite line was crossed. He cringed, waiting for the inevitable explosion of Harry's infamous temper...

But none came.

Harry simply blinked at McGonagall, his eyebrows lifted slightly in politely masked incredulity. No tension in the shoulders, no grinding of the teeth, no narrowing of the eyes behind those odd rectangular glasses. Just the same as the other Muggle families Remus had visited earlier that day; Harry was displaying all the mannerisms of a polite Muggle father who found himself entertaining a couple of nutcases for dinner.

McGonagall took over from there. She delivered the letters to the boys - when had she lifted those from Remus's pocket? - who read them with all the usual shock and awe and disbelief that always came from Muggleborns. She demonstrated a few simple spells: Arthur and Alec gave identical squeals of surprise when their chairs began floating, and then Arthur became disturbingly well-adjusted to the idea and attempted to stand up while the chair lifted him toward the ceiling.

Harry stood abruptly, but he only looked confused and worried, like any Muggle father whose children had just started riding gravity-challenged furniture round the kitchen. McGonagall brought the giggling, chattering boys back down. Arthur looked disappointed but gleeful while Alec's eyes were burning with curiosity. The boys launched into a thousand questions, and Monty barked some of his own for good measure. Sitting once more, Harry took in the scene with huge eyes. He chewed on his lip and traced patterns in the woodgrain of the table. He said nothing.

Now  _that_ was different from the other parents of Muggleborn children. They always had loads of questions or theories to support their skepticism.  _Always_.

"Are you alright, James?" Remus asked quietly. It occurred to him in that moment that Harry had never invited them to call him anything but 'Mr. Charming.' In fact, Harry had yet to say a word.

Harry's familiar green eyes landed on him but there was no familiarity in his gaze. Just confusion, worry, impatience… Complete and utter confusion.

"You don't recognize us?" Remus breathed. Harry's eyes widened and he turned to Monty, pulling on his arm to get his attention. Harry began waving his hands about, making a series of gestures that were too specific to be meaningless…

Remus nearly lost his dinner. Harry was using sign language?!

Monty shot Remus a mysterious look before using his own hands to reply to Harry. But then Harry spotted Alec watching from across the table, where McGonagall and Arthur were deep in conversation; Harry pulled Monty's hands down and ducked his head closer so Monty could whisper in his ear instead.

 _So he can hear… Is it a code then? Why isn't he speaking? Why is he using a cane? Why doesn't he_ know  _us?!_

The Thing next to Remus suddenly whirred back to life and he startled when its copper-coil eyes began glowing. Alec gave a cry of triumph and pointed across the table, his fathers' conversation forgotten.

"Helen!"

Arthur and McGonagall turned their attention to the Thing while Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The whirring increased until it was as loud as a tea kettle's whistle. Remus winced at the noise but couldn't keep his gaze from Harry for long.  _Something is wrong._

A burning smell assaulted his sensitive nose and the Thing's head began shaking and popping up and down.

"Al, get yer bloody robot under control!"

"Look at her go!" Arthur whooped loudly, high-fiving Alec.

Harry met Remus's eye for a moment before he frowned and gave Alec a sharp look, which was promptly ignored.

_He doesn't know me!_

"What's wrong with you?" Remus murmured. Harry's head whipped back to him and Monty looked as if he'd been slapped.

"What did ye say?!" the man suddenly said in a booming voice that instantly cut off the boys' celebrations.

"I-I-I - " Remus stammered, at a loss, still staring at Harry who was looking back at him coolly. The Thing - the robot, Monty called it - was vibrating violently now. Its arms were spinning in their sockets and it was looking less and less human by the second.

"Remus, do control yourself," McGonagall murmured under the din of noise, casting a wary glance over the scene.

"Minerva, do you not  _see_ \- " he started incredulously, but the acrid stench of smoke and burning plastic filled his nose and he faltered, gagging on the smell.

"Go on then, what did ye say?!" Monty repeated, jaw tight, hands clenched on the tabletop. Harry pursed his lips and screwed his eyes shut in annoyance, whether at Monty's shouting, the robot's loud and smelly destruction, or Remus's manners, he couldn't begin to guess.

"See what?" McGonagall pressed while raising a placating hand in Monty's direction.

"Da'?" Alec asked hesitantly. Harry didn't open his eyes, he only pointed stiffly at the Thing, which was now sparking violently from the top of its head.

Monty's attention was finally torn from Remus when Alec stood and raced around the table to the robot, bending down behind it and fiddling with something under its stumpy legs. A hiss of smoke came billowing out of its head, stinging Remus's eyes. The sparks petered out, the movements eased up, and the whirring slowed down into nothing.

Silence reigned in the kitchen once more.

And then Harry began to sign. Alec and Arthur watched his hands with baited breath before Alec nodded, quickly moving Harry's cane to lean against the table and dragging the robot away from the table. Huffing and straining, he pulled it into the pantry, its metal feet scraping across the tile floor dreadfully. Arthur cleared the table, gently stacking dishes in the large industrial sink. Monty was back to attempting to glare a hole through Remus's face, and Remus was attempting spontaneous invisibility.

When the boys returned, they sat quietly at the table, exchanging meaningful glances but nothing more. Monty snatched up Arthur's letter and handed it to Harry, who scanned the words carefully once...twice...three times he read the letter before moving on to the supply list, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. He carefully folded the parchment and placed it back in its envelope before handing it back to Monty, who passed it back to Arthur, who studied the address intently.

Harry signed something else, looking between Remus and McGonagall expectantly. Remus fidgeted...was that mean for them? Harry huffed and signed again, and this time Alec translated:

"How often do you get students like us?"

"Like you?" Remus repeated blankly.

Harry signed again and Alec spoke: "From non-magical families?"

Remus thought his heart would surely stop if he didn't get some answers soon. Of all the questions, Harry had to go and ask one that denied his own identity at the same time…

"Muggleborns are fairly common, Mr. Charming," McGonagall answered. "We send faculty from the school to discuss the matter with the family. A shock like this can't be left to a letter."

Harry went on and Alec said: "You visit families often?"

"Yes indeed."

Eyes fixed on Remus, Harry signed again. Alec hesitated and Arthur smothered a laugh. This time, Monty translated, rather aggressively: "Yer not much good at it."

Remus felt his face flush under Harry's cold gaze.

"Ah, yes...of course, my apologies, I - "

Harry began signing again but McGonagall interrupted.

"Can you speak, Mr. Charming?"

Harry shook his head, glancing at Monty who hesitated for a long moment. Once he got going, however, it became apparent that he was telling more than what Harry meant for him to say:

"James woke in hospital several years ago without a clue. Couldn' remember 'is name, couldn' walk or talk. They found 'im on the street, all banged up, no identification."

"No memory?" McGonagall gasped. Remus felt his heart, which had spent the last two hours winding up tight like a spring, break to pieces as Harry glared at Monty, at McGonagall, at Remus, at the pantry, and finally at the table.  _All these years...he's been lost and alone all these years and we didn't think to check the Muggle hospitals for a John Doe!_

Except he hadn't been alone. Two years, Harry and Monty had been together. And the boys would be off at Hogwarts as first years now, so they had to have been born just a year after Harry's disappearance. Ever the survivor, Harry had found himself a family and built himself a life in these past twelve years. Remus remembered another period of twelve years that he himself had spent lost and alone...in that time, he hadn't done anything that could compare to what Harry had accomplished without even knowing his own name.

"So's funny you should mention tha' bloke ye once knew, Mr. Lupin..." Monty went on pointedly. "Always thought maybe we'd run across someone who might recognize - "

Harry sent Monty a withering look and started signing agitatedly. Arthur and Alec startled slightly at whatever he was saying and then Monty cleared his throat, looking chagrined.

"Right. Let's get on wi' this Hogwarts business, yeah?"

Remus thought they would, but a fire was in McGonagall's eyes and she seemed to grow taller in her seat. She pulled out the photo she had grabbed from her office and slammed it triumphantly onto the table, lips pursed around a smile as if Gryffindor were on the verge of winning the House Cup.

The boys leaned in eagerly, torsos splayed on top of the table as they gaped at the moving picture. Monty turned it around to face him, and Harry leaned in to get a better look.

"It's  _moving!"_ Alec wondered.

"Oi, that looks like Dad!" Arthur blurted, pointing at the shortest figure in the photo.

From upside down, Remus could recognize the Gryffindor Quidditch team. A fifth year Ron Weasley waved eagerly beside Harry who stood at the edge of his team. The Team Captain pin glinted proudly on Harry's uniform as he grinned at the camera. Ron leaned in to say something in Harry's ear and Harry replied out of the corner of his mouth. They both laughed rather stupidly before turning back to smile at the camera.

"Harry James Potter was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his fifth year at Hogwarts," McGonagall supplied, staring at Harry who was now gaping openly at the photo. "He disappeared twelve years ago under some rather unfortunate circumstances... You can see now why my colleague here is so taken aback."

"Said he could be yer twin, he did," Monty told Harry in a low voice, nodding in Remus's direction. "Went all pale when 'e saw yer picture in the shop, like he'd seen a ghost."

Harry kept staring at the picture, saying nothing.

" _Quidditch_ team?" Arthur asked.

"A sport," McGonagall answered simply. Remus wondered at her restraint. McGonagall loved Quidditch.

"What happened to Harry James Potter?" Alec asked quietly. "You said he disappeared?"

McGonagall said nothing and when Remus looked over, he saw her swallowing thickly as she looked at Harry - no, at James Charming. Her withered old hands were trembling. He cleared his throat, not knowing what he would say but forcing the words out anyway.

"There was a war, years ago, in the magical world. It started picking up in Harry's fifth year," he tapped the photo, "and by what should have been his seventh year, Harry and his friends dropped out of school to help in the fight." How to explain that Harry Potter was at the center of this war? He couldn't do it… His voice was on automatic and he barely thought about what he was saying. "May 2nd, 1998, the war was won, largely by Harry's efforts. And his friends. But Harry dealt the final blow."

"The final blow?" Arthur asked breathlessly, looking between the photo and his dad with wild eyes. Harry was back to absently tracing patterns on the tabletop, stiff with unease as he listened.

"The other side was led by a powerful dark wizard," Remus answered. "Called himself Lord Voldemort. To this day, most witches and wizards are afraid to say his name… Harry killed him."

"Yer saying Da' killed an evil dark lord with magic?" Alec said, utterly dumbfounded. Arthur's eyes lit up like fireworks.

"It certainly looks like your father," Remus admitted, uncertain how to reply…. He  _knew_ that this James Charming was actually Harry Potter, there was no doubt. But he had a feeling that pushing this on him too firmly would get McGonagall and himself chucked out on their arses.

"And then what? He disappeared after that?" Alec pressed.

"Then we spent the summer recovering. Funerals, memorials...it was a difficult time, we were coming out of a dark period in our history and our world was rebuilding itself. Harry was just seventeen, but he was a legend. Not a person in our world didn't know his name. He'd always been famous, of course, but - "

"What?"

"Always?"

"Why?"

"Erm - " Remus hesitated. This could turn into a very long story. "Harry had a long history in the fight against Voldemort. He - Voldemort, that is - tried to kill Harry as an infant, but the curse he used rebounded and hurt him instead. So Harry became famous overnight, at just a year old. What would have killed anyone else...left him with just a unique scar on his forehead."

Harry patted his hair over his forehead in a way that Remus had seen so many times before. It moved something inside his chest to see it again…

"So he's like a celebrity?" Arthur grinned over at his dad. "Cool!"

Harry signed something with stiff, jerky movements, avoiding everyone's eyes. Monty sent him a complicated glance before he translated slowly:

"We don'  _know_ tha' our James is yer Harry. It could be a coincidence."

Remus took a fortifying breath, rallying for the offensive. "When did James appear in hospital?"

"July 1998."

"Harry disappeared July 1st. When James woke up, he couldn't remember his name but he thought it might be James?"

"Right. Went by James Smith at first, then they started callin' him Charming. The doctors made it official on the paperwork before he was discharged."

"Because he was so charming?" Remus asked, getting sidetracked.

"Because he was an arse," Monty smiled proudly. Harry actually pouted and started signing, but Monty waved his hand dismissively. "Relax, ye lout, a know…" He turned to Remus and went on in a way that made Remus think he was repeating an oft-heard argument. " _You_ try wakin' up in agony, no voice, no memories, helluva headache, everyone's either yellin' at ye cos they think yer deaf or they're talkin' about ye like yer thick or like yer not even there… I'd've started throwing things too!" Harry looked slightly embarrassed as the boys were giggling to each other.

"James was Harry's father's name," McGonagall smiled fondly. "And of course, Harry's middle name."

Harry signed and Monty said: "S'not like he thought o' the name himself. They gave 'im a list'a common male names an' he just chose one."

"Did you choose it because it seemed familiar?" Remus asked. Harry screwed his mouth to one side and shrugged noncommittally. Remus went on, undeterred. "You can't see it in the picture here, but Harry had that same scar," he nodded at Harry's forehead, though the scar was obscured by his hair now. "He was the spitting image of his father, with his mother's green eyes. His friend Ron here," Remus pointed at the photo, "told me about that scar on your hand..."

Now was the moment of truth. Now he would stop pretending these could possibly be two separate people. James Charming was Harry Potter, there was no denying it.

" _I must not tell lies,_ right?" Harry clenched his hand into a fist and took it off the table, away from prying eyes. "Your fifth year, there was a corrupt ministry official who came to teach. She had it out for you, what with the war picking up and politics not being pure as the driven snow… She gave you detention, had you write lines with a blood quill, which left you with that scar."

The boys weren't giggling now, they were staring at the professors with something resembling horror. Harry and Monty were equally shocked. Too late, Remus realized his mistake as Harry began signing.

Monty translated with a slightly sick expression: "You want us tae send our boys tae a school tha' tortures kids in detention?"

Remus could feel McGonagall's annoyance with him permeating the air.

"As he said," she began, "it was a tumultuous time in our world. Harry was in the thick of it, he was on everyone's list, and that  _toad_ of a woman - "

"Who's t'say it won't happen again?" Monty interrupted.

"The war is over, the ministry's been reclaimed, the corruption rooted out - "

"It never should'a happened in the first place!" the Scotsman grunted, his voice beginning to rise again. He shoved a finger at the photo, tapping it firmly. "Tha's a fifteen year old boy there, wh - ye cannae just - just  _leave_ 'im to fend for 'imself if there's  _corruption_ forcing - what's it,  _blood quills?_ \- on bloody students!"

"You're right!" Remus admitted, suddenly desperate. "You're absolutely right. Things got very dark in our world for a few years, I won't lie. And Harry and his friends bore the ugly brunt of it. They were children growing up in a war, but they fought for a better future and they won it!" He cleared his throat gruffly as fifteen years of emotion bubbled up to the surface. "Hogwarts - magic - it's all so wonderful, Harry went on and on about how much he loved it, how much he felt like that school was his home. He gave everything he had to see it through the war and he disappeared just as we were coming out the other side. H-he never got to see it, but everyone else has… Twelve years' worth of students have come to Hogwarts since then, they've played Quidditch, won the House Cup Tournament, done homework by the lake. All those things that Harry loved, even in the middle of a war, our students get to enjoy now without fear."

"Record number of Muggleborn students this year," McGonagall chimed in somberly. "Because of what that boy did for us. He and his friends built a  _better_ world. Let your children be a part of it."

Arthur and Alec stared at them with wide eyes as they waited for someone else to speak.

"Da' - "

Harry signed something short and fast: a clear dismissal. The boys grumbled but got up from the table, leaving the room swiftly and retreating upstairs.

* * *

 

Arthur dragged his feet while Alec hurried ahead of him up the stairs, down the hall, and into the largest bedroom. Twin beds, ironically mismatched, were nestled against opposite walls. At the end of Alec's bed was a Franken-desk he had put together from two tables and an old dresser: one surface was horizontal and sat higher than a normal desk - he preferred to sit on a high stool - and the other surface was leaning between the horizontal piece and the wall, rigged to pull out at various angles when needed. Bungee-cords held large drafting papers in place on the angled surface, but he kept it pushed up close to the wall for now. Climbing up onto the tall, padded stool, he began rooting around in the dresser-drawers tucked under the table.

Arthur shut the door behind him and flopped down on his unmade bed, which creaked loudly. Arty patted it absentmindedly, like he always did after some annoying piece of second-hand furniture "greeted" him.

"Helen's stuck in the pantry," he grumbled. "We'll never hear 'em now."

Alec sighed melodramatically. "You underestimate yer own brother..." He pulled out a modified clock-radio with a super-large antenna and the bottom half of a walkie-talkie strapped to it. He plugged it in and cringed at the loud, piercing feedback, before adjusting the knobs. At first all he got was static, then some music and a French radio station. Once he remembered to disable the actual clock-radio side of the contraption, he got the walkie-talkie to feed into the larger speaker of the radio, and the voices from downstairs began to drift through.

"Brilliant!" Arthur grinned, sitting up on his tie-dye bedspread to listen in.

 _"...visited his parents' graves alone one evening and we never saw him again. We think he ended up in the Potter Cottage nearby. It was destroyed, half a dozen dark wizards trapped inside, killed by the collapse. Harry was nowhere to be found, but..."_ A throat cleared harshly and the voice - Mr. Lupin's - went on, much raspier than before.  _"His blood was everywhere...not quite enough to make us think he bled out, but we knew he was hurt. Badly. And...and we never saw him again."_

And indistinct mumbling came through as static flared. Alec lifted the contraption a few inches off the desk, which seemed to calm it for some reason.

 _"...wand recovered just outside Glasgow..."_ Static, and Alec lifted the contraption a little higher in the air.  _"...local hospitals, but we were using the wrong name - "_

 _"...discharged in August,"_ Monty's voice came through.  _"...in a shelter for a long while, had plenty of rehab 'fore he was much use tae anyone..."_

_"Rehab?"_

_"Was hurt pretty bad, right?"_ Monty grunted. Arthur and Alec shared a knowing look. Dad wasn't keen to talk about those days, between waking up in hospital and meeting their mother, who taught yoga at the rehabilitation center. True enough, Monty coughed loudly and plowed ahead.  _"Met Aarti thereabouts and knocked her right up, so ye know, rehab did 'im pretty good!"_ Monty dissolved in a fit of choking giggles while the boys groaned. Alec subtly brought the radio down toward the desk, increasing the static interference through the next part until he thought they might be in the clear of more dirty jokes.

_"...died bringin' the boys in, parents wouldn' even claim the body, said James killed her - "_

Alec jerked violently and the contraption slipped through his fingers and hit the desk. Static took over and started rising in volume while Arthur leapt to his feet.

"What did he say?!"

"Was that about Mum's family?"

"They're alive? Shit, turn it down!" Arthur covered his ears with his hands as the static became overwhelmingly loud. Alec hastily picked up the device and spun the volume knob several times, to no effect. He shook the contraption roughly and several pieces rattled about inside before he tried again. This time the volume returned to a reasonable level and the static faded as he lifted it into the air again.

 _"...met in the bakery downtown - "_ Static.  _" - wore 'im down - years of chocolate penises - "_

Alec rolled his eyes at the all-too-familiar love story, moving to stand on top of his bed and raise the radio high in the air with determination. Now the voices were coming through clear as day.

 _"You don't remember anything?"_ This was a common question people posed when they learned about Dad's amnesia. It was a fascinating topic, of course, but everyone else got the vanilla version of the story. Alec, Arthur, and Monty, however -

_"He gets dreams an' what'd'ye call 'em...flashbacks? Could be walkin' down the street an' he smells somethin', remembers some odd scene - "_

_"Like what?"_ came Mr. Lupin's eager voice.

 _"Outa context, cannae really make sense of anythin'... A fondness for gingers, can tell ye that much!"_ Monty laughed loudly and fully. There was a pause - Dad was probably signing - and then Monty said:  _"There dragons in yer magic world?"_

_"Yes!"_

_"Dreams about dragons a lot."_ A pause, then:  _"An' flyin' on brooms, but a s'pose yer picture explains that, o' course."_ A long pause before Monty continued, more hesitantly:  _"Mostly nightmares. People gettin' hurt, or chasin' him. Violent stuff. He wakes up tryin' to scream some nights…"_ Alec, still standing on his bed with the radio over his head, shared a surprised look with Arthur on the ground. They hadn't known that.  _"All of it this same voodoo stuff, so I cannae think this is a good place fer our boys - "_

 _"I assure you, it's safe, Monty, Har-James..."_ said McGonagall.  _"I know all evidence points to the contrary, but our world is as safe as yours. Harry's life was a uniquely difficult one. Out of context, those dreams must be horrifying - "_

 _"Dinnae think context is gonna improve 'em much, miss,"_ Monty grumbled darkly.

An excruciatingly long pause, then Monty:  _"When d'ye need our decision?"_

 _"You'll need time to shop in Diagon Alley to get their supplies,"_ Lupin said awkwardly. He was an awkward bloke in general.  _"If you're really uncertain, we can push that back to the day before term begins...but it'll best if they have more time with their school books, it's quite an adjustment for Muggleborns - "_

 _"What else do you need to make your decision?"_ McGonagall interrupted.  _"Forgive me, but I can't imagine a world in which the Potter children don't attend Hogwarts."_

Silence while Dad presumably signed, then Monty said, albeit reluctantly:  _"Well ye don' have tae. They're Charmings."_

This time, the silence seemed charged with tension. Alec and Arthur shared another look, feeling nervous. Dad didn't often lose his temper, but when he did...well, Helen was built mostly to explore the full electro-magnetic effects of James Charming's emotions. And she was already smoldering in the pantry. Arthur idly wondered if Dad had even pieced together Helen's true purpose or if he still thought she was just a mascot that Alec had built for a laugh...

Scraping sounds came through the radio as chairs were presumably pushed back from the table. The voices were fading away, overly polite goodbyes and stiff words leading their magical guests to the front door, far away from the walkie-talkie hidden within a hollowed-out book on the table. Alec dropped his arms and jumped down from the bed, depositing the radio on his large desk. Arthur climbed up to perch on his own desk - which was an old door mounted on two saw-horses. Too late he remembered the small puddle of paint he had left on its surface…

"Ach!" He pulled a hand through the blubbery half-dried paint that was smeared across his trousers now. "Oh well, need to feed the cat anyway..."

Alec jumped and spun around, climbing onto his knees atop the tall padded stool as Arthur opened his wardrobe. Arthur felt his brother eye him warily as he rifled through a drawer, opened a can of wet cat-food, and began poking around in the hanging clothes.

"You seen the cat anywhere, Al?" Alec went pale and looked at him in horror. Arthur snorted. "Keep yer knickers on, he's right here - a was just messin'." Alec hated cats. Almost as much as Arthur hated the dark. Hated. Not 'afraid of.' They were getting too old to keep being  _afraid_   _of_  things. But that didn't mean they had to like them.

"So did it work?" he asked, patting the wrinkled head of the hairless cat that was going to town on the can of food in his wardrobe. Alec didn't look away from the cat and Arthur raised his voice a little. "Al? Did ye get what ye needed earlier? Nearly broke ma leg falling down those stairs..."

"I didn't ask ye tae actually  _fall_ ," Alec snapped at him, regaining a little color in his cheeks now. "I told ye to cause a distraction, not fling yerself to yer death!"

"Monty's gettin' cleverer, I had to make it look good!" he said cheekily.

"Yer just tryin' tae hurt yerself so I hav'tae do yer chores!"

 _Well he's got me there._ "So did ye get it?" he asked again with a smirk, rooting through the drawers of the wardrobe to find his pyjamas.

Alec sighed and pulled something out of his pocket. Dad's latest mobile phone. He was supposed to have it with him whenever he left the house - like earlier, when he went out to run an errand and pick up the take-away - but really he just used it to text the others and send dumb pictures to Monty. And of course, the boys had to have their mobiles on them at all times.  _Just in case_ , Dad would say. In case of what? In case a kidnapper snatched them up and didn't think to check their pockets? It was 2010. Everyone and their dogs carried mobiles.

It was just as well that Dad always conveniently  _forgot_ to keep his mobile in his pocket. He had a strange habit of shorting out his electronic devices. After three family laptops, Dad was no longer allowed near a computer. The tube-telly in their sitting room seemed to be immune as long as they didn't try to upgrade to a flatscreen (and as long as Manchester didn't lose). After sixteen mobile phones, this was the only the latest. And, miracle of miracles, it was currently still working. Possibly because Dad never kept it with him and likely texted on it using a ten-foot pole.

Alec had already pried off the back and was poking around inside the device, wearing his terribly stupid Inventor's Goggles. A strap around his head held a series of magnifying lenses that were glued into metal rings on flexible goose-neck spokes. Alec would twist the lenses closer or farther, adjusting as needed while he poked around at tiny wires. And he looked bonkers.

"Wha'd'ye reckon they meant about Mum's family?" Arthur asked lightly, scratching the wrinkly, fleshy cat behind her ears. Alec barely spared him a glance before he shrugged. "I thought they were dead?"

"Da' never actually said that," Alec replied. "Jus' said they weren't round anymore."

"Yeah,  ** _anymore_** ," Arthur signed as he repeated the word. "Ye don' say it like that unless ye mean they died."

"Well, maybe he meant it a diff'rent way," he shrugged again. "So they used to be around and...then they weren't."

"Cos Dad  _'killed her'?"_ Arthur went on, his voice cracking. He picked up the cat and cradled her to his chest, running his fingers over her back. "She died giving birth! How's that his fault?!"

Alec gave him an uncomfortable but pointed look, his green eyes huge behind the magnifying lenses. "Well. He didn't  _kill_ her, but he did… You know… Er, and then she died."

"Ugh, shut up," he said, his nose wrinkling at the thought of what had to have happened that led to their conception, which led to their birth, which led to Aarti Patel's death. "Tha's stupid."

"Da' said they didn' wan' anything tae do with him," Alec insisted, bending over the phone again with his tiniest pair of needle-nose pliers.

"Yeah, cos he dinnae have a family. He said they were all about that stuff." Their mother Aarti had come from a conservative background. Dad said that the Patels had wanted their daughter to end up with a Hindu. They were nice enough though, he said, until she got pregnant with his sprog. Then they turned her out. And now ' _they aren't around anymore...'_ "Oh." Arthur suddenly felt very stupid, stupider than Alec looked in his Goggles. Bloody hell, his grandparents hadn't died. They had disowned Aarti and left James to fend for the newborn twins alone. "Shit."

"Yeah, shit," Alec murmured in agreement.

"Well. Maybe it's best. If they'd stuck round to help, maybe Dad would never've met Monty," he said, trying to sound a bit more chipper than he felt at the moment. He wondered if he could find his long lost grandparents online... Minutes ago, he would have wanted a happy family reunion and the promise of more presents on his birthday. Now he just wanted to give them a piece of his mind.

"I think he'd'a still ended up working in the bakery," Alec sighed. "He worked there before we were born."

"That was the grocery."

"Oh."

"We had to move cos Dad didn' like the area or somethin'," Arthur tried to recall. There was some sort of break in that had spooked Dad into moving...was it their flat that had been burgled or the neighbor's? They were little more than toddlers at the time; he only remembered Dad's long rants in which they had both picked up some interesting swear-signs. "Then he started a' the bakery wae Monty."

"Chocolate penises," Alec confirmed, nodding sagely.

"Tha' was a good birthday," he remembered fondly.

Alec snapped the phone back together and took off his Goggles triumphantly. "The extra coils I put in last time burned through but it's holding up so far," he grinned.

"Got a theory?"

"Yeah," he snorted. "We thought he was more like Hawkeye but Da's apparently the wizard-Hulk!"

Arthur giggled madly and the cat in his arms meowed in protest as he squeezed a little too hard. "All this time, he's just been Hulking out magic-style when he's stressed? And he always tellin'  _us_ tae treat  _our_ things nice! The git..."

A knock at the door and Alec damn near hurled the mobile into the closest desk drawer in a panic while Arthur flew to the wardrobe to stow the cat.

"Come in!" Alec squeaked as soon as Arthur had the wardrobe closed.

The door opened to reveal Dad leaning heavily on his cane, a sure sign of a long day. It was probably best his mobile was in Alec's desk drawer for now. He cast a blank look over the chaos of their room but didn't say anything against it. James Charming liked order -  _everything has a place, you just have to get it there,_ he would say - but he let them do what they wanted with their room. And they both wanted a bit of a mess...it distracted from the stolen mobile and stowaway cat.

"So..." Alec started, sucking on his lip. "...how are things, Harry?"

Dad shot him an annoyed look that was softened by the ghost of a smile. Their dad wasn't a foul-tempered man by a long shot. He had a temper sometimes, sure, but Monty was far more likely to go off. And yeah, Dad would get frustrated when Arthur tried sneaking yet another new drawing to the wall downstairs without framing it first, and then rearranging everything to make enough room for it (two inches of space around each frame, that was the key), and then dusting it all again for good measure (apparently for the health inspector's benefit but they would be hard-pressed to find any dust in their living space either). But Dad's slight neuroticism was just a quirk, really. Easily overlooked when you considered the crippled mute amnesiac as a whole.

 ** _Monty and I will talk. Will let you know soon,_**  Dad signed, balancing his cane against his leg to free up his other hand.

 _Wait, is this seriously up for debate?_ Arthur thought.

"We want to learn magic," Alec said flatly. Neither of them were much in the mood to deal with their dad's weird issues. Arthur was 96% certain the other Muggleborns didn't have to worry about whether their parents would bug out and keep them home because of some dirty politics that went down a lifetime ago!

 ** _You can learn from home. Safe here,_**  he replied, keeping his movements deliberately slow and smooth.

"But the magic school has - er, Quidditch? That sport from the picture?" Arthur protested weakly. Dad gave him an unimpressed look.

**_You want to play a sport?_ **

"I'd like the option," he grumbled.

"It's not the same learning at home as it is at school," Alec insisted.

 ** _You teach yourself all the time_** , Dad argued, nodding at the dozens of homemade contraptions on Alec's side of the room.  ** _We can hire a tutor._**

"It's not the same and you know it," Alec huffed, folding his arms across his chest. Arthur nodded and copied his brother. United front. That's what they needed to convince their father. It worked about half the time.

**_I agree. Different. No decision yet._ **

_You mean you haven't convinced Monty to keep us home yet,_ Arthur thought darkly.

"Are ye even giving them a  _chance_ , Da'?" Alec sighed. "I mean, ye believe 'em, right? About Harry Potter?"

Dad didn't say anything for a long moment. His mouth twisted at the corner as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Then he grabbed his cane, tapped his watch to indicate the late hour, and nodded goodnight to them, closing the door gently on his way out.

Muffled inside the wardrobe, Arthur's secret cat gave an annoyed meow.

 


	2. We are family / Get up everybody and sing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty is a sucker for reunions (and so am I).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the chapter title:
> 
> When I hear that song, I always think of the end of my wedding reception, when my new husband's family encircled (trapped) us and sang (chanted) this song for an eternity with their Minnesota accents while we awkwardly bobbed around in the middle. When I hear that song, I get really really really uncomfortable.

"Hermione!" Ron croaked from the sitting room, his voice still raw. "Phone!"

 

It had been a long, emotional night, and neither of them had slept. Ron didn't answer the landline in the kitchen on the best of days, and this morning did not find either of them in peak condition.

 

"Would you just pick it up for once, _please!"_ she shouted back, hands coated in product as she twisted her hair into a desperate plait. She heard Ron groan - which meant it was a massive, melodramatic groan, seeing as he was on the sofa and she was up the stairs, down the hall, through the master bedroom, and in their private loo - but the phone stopped ringing a moment later when he answered it.

 

She came down a half hour later, hair done, face washed, even a bit of makeup making her appear more fresh than she felt. She found Ron leaning against the counter, phone off the hook next to him.

 

"You’re meant to hang it up when you've finished," she sighed, placing the phone on its wall-mounted cradle. Ron looked up and she caught the unnatural pallor beneath his freckles. "Ron?"

 

"That was - that was that bloke," he said weakly.

 

"What? Who?"

 

"That Muggle Remus talked about, the one Harry's with."

 

Hermione blanched.

 

"On the phone? Wh-what did he want?" she whispered. Remus mentioned last night that he had left their number for this Montgomery Gibbs man because his own cottage didn't have a phone, but he also said that he didn't expect him to actually call.

 

"Wants us to come round for dinner," Ron answered, looking as if he'd just come across an acromantula in his teacup. "Well, he was looking for Remus and McGonagall, but once I explained who I was, he invited us along too. Said to bring anything and everything that would get _James_ on board with...with this whole...thing."

 

"James..."

 

"Yeah."

 

When Remus had come by last night, it was long after Rose and Hugo had been put to bed. She and Ron were just about to call it a night when their floo flared. Out stepped Remus Lupin, who dropped the biggest bombshell they had experienced since Voldemort came back to life in the Triwizard Tournament.

 

Harry had come back to life. Again.

 

Except he was _James_ now. James Charming, Remus reported, was a young father and _chocolatier_ , of all things. He was mute. He used sign language and a cane. He had himself a Muggle boyfriend or husband or something, and twin boys who looked just like him. Like little first year Harry-clones. Something about a malevolent robot. Remus was fairly shaken up over the whole ordeal and promised to return with more information when he could.

 

She and Ron had not gone to bed after all. They spent all night discussing what to do. Should they barge into Charming Chocolates and whisk this James fellow off to St. Mungo's? Should they try to strong-arm him into letting his children attend Hogwarts? Should they sit him down with a pensieve and flood him with their shared memories until something clicked and James became their Harry again?

 

After much shouting and crying and tea, they hadn't really arrived at any decisions. They were drained. Hugo was just a toddler, but Rose, their eldest, she knew something was up this morning as Ron herded the children through the floo to the Burrow. The five-year-old had given them such a knowing look that Hermione was nearly convinced their daughter was a Seer.

 

She was clearly too far gone for sensible thought.

 

"Well," she heard herself speak. "What shall we bring?" Ron didn't answer, he just kept staring at the scuffed hardwood floor under his feet. He had another hour to go before he had to report to the Auror office, but Hermione would have to leave in the next five minutes if she wanted to be on time. Granted, Unspeakables were never the most punctual lot, but she had her own standards to maintain. "Ron?"

 

He shrugged.

 

"I suppose I could put in an emergency request for a pensieve today," she considered. "I should be able to get one before tonight… Will you pull out Harry's old photo album from the attic before you head off?" Ron nodded, not quite looking like he heard. "Can you secure his wand? The Aurors still have it, don’t they? That'll be the fastest way to get him to believe us - "

 

"He said he believes us, he just doesn't want anything to do with us."

 

"...what?"

 

"The Muggle bloke - what's his name - "

 

"Montgomery Gibbs."

 

"Right, Gibbs, he said...well, he said Harry, er - James, that is - he doesn't exactly _disbelieve_ any of this, it all fits together, makes sense. He just doesn't want it."

 

"Doesn't want it?" she repeated dubiously.

 

"Gibbs said he has nightmares and scars...he knows enough to know that he doesn't want to get sucked back into it, I reckon."

 

"If he just _understood_ , it wouldn't seem so daunting - "

 

"Gibbs said they had a huge row about it last year when he went looking on the computer for missing persons reports," Ron went on in that same flat voice. "James told him not to bother. Gibbs assumed he was just sore about being challenged with technology and who _wouldn't_ be curious, but then James told him about all sorts of horrible dreams…"

 

 _And who would dive back into that mess for the sake of curiosity?_ Hermione thought sadly.  _Maybe James has a bit more sense than Harry._ Not for the first time that morning, Hermione wondered if it was best that Harry had lost the memories of his dark past. A fresh start...

 

Who was James Charming?

 

* * *

 

Ten hours later, James saw the last pair of gabbing customers out with a friendly smile, waving apologetically at the pair of older women lingering on the sidewalk hopefully. He pointed at the sign - it was clear, after all. 7:00 sharp. His peculiar but always accurate watch - featuring planetary orbits, the phases of the moon, and one too many hands - read 7:01 when he flipped the sign over to Closed and locked the door.

 

Front door secured and potential customers sufficiently let down, he limped back to the counter, his hip twinging. He could make it short distances just fine without his cane and today hadn't been particularly hard on him. No long treks through the city, like yesterday. Just an average day in his little shop.

 

Except it felt fake now. Nothing felt average or normal anymore. A witch and wizard turned up yesterday. They sent his furniture flying through the air and invited his sons to magic school. They claimed to know him, his other life, they claimed he was some bigshot war hero with a penchant for drama. _Two_ dragons?! _Three, if you count the baby Norwegian Ridgeback,_ that McGonagall woman had said. He did count it. He counted all three as perfectly valid reasons to keep Al and Ar away from that mad world.

 

Twelve years of wondering and then forcing those curious thoughts to the back of his mind, and these people waltz in without a by-your-leave, invite themselves for tea, and spew a load of fairytale nonsense to entice his boys while saddling him with a past he didn't want anything to do with. A violent past. It couldn't have been anything else, he had always known that, but now he knew details. He didn't want details. He wanted to leave the flames, the screams, the blank, staring, dead eyes in his dreams where they couldn't hurt anyone.

 

_Teenagers in school uniforms, lying dead outside the library - children huddled together in a smoldering classroom -_

 

These were the images that plagued him at night and haunted him the next day. Last night, he saw his sons wearing those uniforms. Dead. He wanted to scream.

 

James finished counting down the drawer, depositing a bulk of cash into the safe under the counter. He marked down the numbers and notes for the day before shutting down the shop: closing up display cases, turning off accent lights, brushing empty wrappers onto the floor. He wondered where the boys were; it was 7:20 now. He retrieved his mobile from under the antique register and sent a text to both of them.

 

_Chores pls_

 

There, that should do it. They'd dust, sweep, and mop the shop while he joined Monty in the kitchen. He grabbed his cane from the corner, resolving to use it after all. He wanted to keep his energy up tonight and it wouldn't do to pass out on the sofa at 8:30. He heard Al and Ar's footsteps trudging down the stairs just as he was pushing through the door into the kitchen.

 

Monty stood at the hob, cooking up a feast. That wasn't too unusual. They switched off on dinner duty and Monty tended to go overboard when it was his turn, leaving them leftovers for days. Which of course made it easier to claim he'd taken care of dinner on his other nights.

 

What was unusual were the extra chairs and place-settings crammed around the table.

 

James knocked his cane against the counter next to him to get Monty's attention, but the man didn't turn around. A sure sign of a guilty conscience. James pursed his lips and approached, staring up at his boyfriend with frank curiosity. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the offending table, but Monty wouldn't look up from his frantic whisking. James leaned his cane against the counter and started signing obnoxiously close to Monty's face, leaving the man no choice but to listen.

 

**_Who is coming for dinner?_ **

 

Monty bit his lip but didn't reply.

 

**_Monty? ** _Who?_**_ **

 

Monty bowed his head, trying to avoid James's hands while still minding the soup.

 

**_M-O-N-T-Y Who is coming for dinner?_ **

 

"A've invited the professors back," Monty finally said, his voice falsely bright. "An' some old friends, tha' Ron bloke an' his wife." James wasn't surprised in the least but he certainly felt a spark of something... Betrayal? This was Monty's computer research all over again, sticking his nose into something that didn't concern him. Yes, betrayed, he was feeling betrayed!

 

**_You cannot undermine me because you are curious! Again!_ **

 

"Not just about your life this time, James," Monty argued, still avoiding his eye, still stirring that blasted soup. "Alec an' Arty deserve a chance tae be a part of that world if they want tae, an' they _do -_ "

 

**_They could die!_ **

 

"They need tae learn anyway! All these weird accidents happenin', it's only gonna get worse - "

 

**_Dangerous!_ **

 

"It's safe now, ye heard what they said. Their war's over - "

 

 **_V was arsing around for years before the war. Murdered babies before the war! They could die!_** Lupin had said that Lord Voldemort once tried to kill Harry Potter as an infant, even before that war picked up. Did these people think it was acceptable to leave dark lords running around, slaughtering infants? Why was it left up to teenagers to put an end to the madness?

 

"So don' ye think they should learn tae defend themselves wae magic? Like Harry did?"

 

 **_Did not help him much._** James was living, limping proof of that.

 

Monty dropped the whisk and finally faced him. "James, a' least give 'em a chance - "

 

 **_H-A-R-R-Y gave them a chance_** , James replied hotly. Why wasn't he _getting_ this? Magic and warlocks and dragons seemed like a fantasy to Monty and the kids. And it should have seemed like that to James as well, but it only brought up his nightmares again, which were all too real.

 

"Entertain the idea fer _one_ night," Monty said. Usually one to avoid any serious confrontation, Monty sounded uncharacteristically determined today. "Get through dinner wae these people, let ‘em see their old friend again."

 

 **_I am James not H-A-R-R-Y!_**  James was horror-struck, his hands flying through the letters. Harry Potter's closest friends were coming to dinner _tonight_. In just under an hour, he would have to stare into their eyes and witness - no, _cause_ their crushing disappointment. It was cruel to push this farce on them! Far kinder to leave Harry Potter among the dead.

 

"A know that an' so do they," Monty soothed, reaching out to catch James's wrists. He pressed a sweet kiss to his lips and James again felt the urge to scream. He didn't want to calm down. He wanted to fight about this. He wanted to cancel dinner and rearrange the furniture upstairs. And buff the floors. And try that new aerating technique from the Japanese chocolatier that Al found on YouTube.

 

"Da', Monty?" Arthur called from the shop. "Someone's at the door, they won' piss off!"

 

James looked heavenward. Who was teaching his boys to talk like sailors? Monty hadn't cursed in years - he just got creative instead.

 

"Watch yer language, ye bloody bonsai tree!" Monty roared back with a huge grin. James snorted. _Classic._ And with that, his horror at tonight's impending doom felt a bit more manageable.

 

A bit.

 

* * *

 

More witches and wizards invaded their kitchen that night than even his sneaky bastard of a lover had anticipated. Food was carted in by their guests, plates were conjured from thin air, the table was magically expanded, and chairs were transfigured out of James's favorite wooden spoons.

 

Lupin and McGonagall took up their usual seats across from James and Monty. Ron Weasley-Granger and Hermione Granger-Weasley sat to McGonagall's right. Molly and Arthur Weasley - Ron's parents - chose to sit at James's side. (James tried very hard not to wonder if he had subconsciously named his own son after the balding stranger next to him.) Next to Lupin was his thirteen-year-old son, Teddy. Teddy sported fashionable turquoise hair that Arty was eyeing with envy. Not what he would have expected for the child of Remus Lupin, but he quite liked the boy.

 

And then there was George. He was seated next to the twins, who were crammed together onto the end where Helen used to stand. George Weasley seemed as delighted by Arthur and Alexander as the younger boys were by him; he was already deep in conversation about magical pranks and sweets. James could almost hear the sizzling power of mischief among them. The inevitable disaster tonight would involve that end of the table, he was certain.

 

Dinner was actually going smoothly thus far. Monty subtly reminded him (by signing for all the world to see) (and James could only hope that no one else except his boys knew sign language) (except there they went, immediately whispering to George and Teddy) that he had always harbored a fondness for redheads and so he must be thoroughly enjoying himself now. James, of course, began plotting his revenge on Monty. Chili-powder in his special ganache, that would teach him. Monty abhorred chili-laced chocolate as much as James adored gingers.

 

 _No!_ He staunchly refused to be sucked in by their natural ginger charms. He had to resist! Monty was right. James always had a soft spot for gingers. He had once mentioned to Monty that the Scotsman would make a gorgeous redhead, which led to all sorts of jealousy issues that James was still learning how to avoid, even three years later. That's right: they had only been dating for two years, yet somehow the ginger-jealousy-monster had taken root long before their first snog.

 

Despite his resistance, the Weasleys (and their hyphenated-Granger-affiliates), the Lupins, and the McGonagall were a collective force to be reckoned with. James found himself outright laughing (albeit silently) at Ron's story of his first experience with a telephone, when he had tried to call Harry and ended up screaming pleasantries at his uncle. Mr. Weasley proudly recited to him the many potential uses of a rubber duck, without explanation, which completely endeared him. George was getting along fabulously with his twins, which - while suspicious - couldn't help but bring a smile to his face. Teddy was coaxed into sending his own hair color on a rainbow tour through sheer force of will, which was one of the strangest things James had ever witnessed but gave him a brilliant idea for a new line of truffles.

 

At some point, McGonagall began talking in depth about her school subject, transfiguration. Then she said something that implied, somehow, that she had personal experience as a feline. Monty seemed content to blink and let it go, but James nudged him urgently before the subject could move on.

 

"Ye spend much time as a cat then, Minerva?" Monty obliged.

 

Arty spluttered through his sip of water and Alec dropped his fork, looking up at McGonagall with huge, round eyes.

 

"As a matter of fact, I do. An animagus form is the ultimate transfiguration," McGonagall explained. "I wouldn't think to hire a transfiguration professor without the ability."

 

"Your father was an animagus, you know," Lupin said a little too casually from across the table. James raised his brows, trying to appear less interested than he was.

 

"Dad's da' was a cat?" Alec asked flatly.

 

"He could transform into a stag, actually," Lupin smiled. "Harry's patronus charm took the form of his father's animagus." James furrowed his brow and Lupin caught the unasked question. "A patronus is a sort of guardian-charm, made from happy memories to fend off dark creatures, or to send urgent messages."

 

"Wanna see?" Ron asked, already pulling out his wand. James barely had time to wonder if the wizarding world had any sort of etiquette rules - if Monty insisted he took off his favorite cap, then he thought maybe _no spells at the dinner table_ would be a good rule too. Ron shared a look with Hermione, who drew her wand as well, and they cast in unison:

 

_"Expecto patronum!"_

 

A jack russell terrier and an otter burst from their wands, chasing each other around the table to the delight and awe of Alec and Arty. James clutched Monty's arm tightly as he felt a surge of déjà vu. The ghost-like creatures darted about his kitchen, their gentle glow lighting up the faces of Ron and Hermione as they passed by, and he felt like he was experiencing something he had lived before.

 

The feeling was overwhelming: it took over his senses and he was flooded with foreign but intimately familiar sense-memories. The smell of rain, freshly turned earth, blood. The sticky feeling of sweat dampening his shirt, the uncleanliness of wearing clothes that had gone far too long without a wash. A familiar cramp in his stomach, the kind of hunger he hadn't known since the boys were tots. The voices around him faded to something else, a din of noise that didn't scare him but certainly didn't belong in his kitchen, sounding rather like the halls at the boys' primary school -

 

The charmed creatures faded and reality began to creep back in. Monty was holding his hand where it was still clutching his forearm, watching him excitedly, knowingly. That Lupin fellow was staring at him too, but nobody else was paying any mind. Their guests went on with the meal as James forced himself back. Back to the kitchen, back to his clean trousers and thermal shirt, back to his left hand on Monty's arm and his right hand on his wand -

 

No. Cane. He was holding his cane in his right hand. For some reason. He hadn't been holding it before...right? Why would he? Why was he now? He leaned it once more against the table between his chair and Mr. Weasley's. Monty and Lupin were still watching. James pried his other hand away from Monty and lifted his fork to pick at the vegetables on his plate. On his temporarily-conjured-plate that was actually just nothing and would soon disappear into nothing again. Because magic.

 

He felt a headache building in his temples.

 

"Monty and Da' used tae work at a bakery," Arty was saying now, capturing everyone's attention. "Da' was pants at breads - " _Was not!_ " - but he decorated all the cakes so they let 'im stay on. This one time," Arty broke off in a giggle and James knew he would hate whatever was coming next. "This one time, he fell asleep in the back durin' his break - " _Oh bugger._ " - left us wae the nanny all day. When he woke up, he got all confused cos 'is watch said eight o'clock but no one was there. Thought it were eight in the _morning_ , the weapon!"

 

This earned some good-natured laughs and James wanted to hide behind the conjured plate because he knew the story was far from over.

 

"So he's all ba himself, thinks everyone else is hours late but cannae call anyone tae ask," Arty carried on delightedly. "He starts on the orders - which're really the next day's orders - an' when he's finished 'em off, he gets _inspired_ like he does when ye leave 'im alone in a kitchen too long. Starts makin' buckets an' barrels of candies an' sweets like he's Willy Wonka!"

 

More laughter and James could feel his cheeks begin to heat up.

 

"Our nanny's in a snit cos it's near two in the mornin' now an' he's never late. She kept callin' the bakery - she weren't very bright, he cannae answer the phone! So she calls the police and they call the bakery too - they weren't very bright neither - an' tell her tae wait til mornin' before she files a missing person report. Then they get a noise complaint from the old todger who lived behind the bakery. Said someone was blastin' shite music - "

 

James snapped his fingers almost on reflex and Arthur pulled a face.

 

"Sorry, Da' - said the bakery was blastin' some _not so good_ music an' asked the police tae knock some sense in tae whoever it was. They knock on the front door but Da's in the back, dancing away an' havin' a riot, so he cannae hear 'em. They get in - " Monty was shaking with silent laughter and James's face was burning. " - an' see a smear of raspberry jam on the counter from when he was boxing up donuts earlier. But they dinnae think it was jam, no, they reckon it's  _blood_ an' that there's a break-in an' the music is tae cover up the noise!"

 

Monty was dissolving into snorts and giggles, Alec was covering his entire face to keep quiet, and Arthur was in his element.

 

"They call for backup an' then storm the back room all at once. Da's back there, jam-blood on his sleeves an' lookin' like a deer in headlights, guilty as ye please, so they _tackle him!"_

 

Monty started howling with laughter and the table descended into chaos. Arthur looked like Christmas had come early, whether from the spotlight or from remembering one of his favorite Dad's-too-stupid-to-be-allowed stories. James propped his elbow on the table and covered his eyes, pushing his glasses askew.

 

"They cuff him an' leave 'im on the floor, some fat lard's sittin' on his back while the others search for whatever poor blighter he's bludgeoned tae death. He cannae say anything tae explain himself so they think he's a blood-thirsty psychopath and take 'im down tae the police station, still cuffed. Monty shows up at the bakery for his shift at five an' there's caution tape everywhere, detectives swarmin', an' Da's not around for his shift but he's _never_ late so Monty thinks tae himself...well clearly James has gone an' snuffed it. The police were talking about blood an' he's just in a right panic, convinced his crush has gone an' kicked it."

 

Monty clapped a warm hand on James's shoulder but James didn't look up. George was screaming with laughter, Ron and Hermione were holding each other up through their tears, Teddy's hair was inexplicably white.

 

"Monty's yellin' at the police, screamin' at 'em to _find James, find the beautiful idiot_ \- " James brought his other hand up to more thoroughly hide his face. " - an' they eventually piece it all together and let Monty inside tae identify the raspberry jam what started a murder investigation. By the time they let Da' go from the station, he jus' goes back to work to finish his _third_ shift in a row. Had tae pay the nanny three times over!"

 

After everyone had laughed themselves half-sick and had come back down to earth, James lifted his head from his hands and glared at Arty, the fucking traitor. His eldest smirked at him much too proudly, basking in the glow of his stage time. James couldn't stand it but Arty hadn't actually done anything wrong.

 

 **_Go feed the cat_** , James signed stiffly, not knowing what else to say to get him back. Arty jerked, his eyes widening in panic. _Ha!_ There. Maybe Arthur's fear of felines would be the next topic of discussion and humiliation. He could tell stories too!

 

 **_Have no cat_** , Arty signed back, pale and twitchy. It was James's turn to smirk. Maybe he could get McGonagall to demonstrate her ultimate transfiguration skills.

 

 **_Go find a cat, feed it_** , he retorted, feeling perfectly smug. Arty's green eyes nearly bugged out of his skull and, to James's surprise, he pushed his chair back and hustled from the room. Hm. Weird. Well, at least Arty wasn't smirking at him anymore. Only...he hoped he hadn't pushed him too far, he was only joking - 

 

"Erm, Da'?" Alec said lowly. The table was far too quiet now. James turned to Al expectantly, trying to ignore the staring. "Er, Arty's not the one who's afraid of cats..."

 

James blinked. Of course he was. If he hadn't been sure before, Arty's bug-eyed expression was proof enough.

 

 **_Yes he is_** , he said simply, not knowing what sort of game his sons were playing.

 

"No, that's me," Alec practically whispered, eyes darting to McGonagall uncomfortably. James frowned. Then why did Arty -

 

Oh shit _._

 

James hardly registered his chair tipping over in his haste to catch up to his other son - the one who was _obsessed_ with cats. He left his cane behind and flew up the stairs, obstinately ignoring the roaring pain in his hip. _Please no, please please please -_

 

The twins' bedroom door was ajar and James's heart sank when he heard it: a distinct and unmistakable meow.

 

Bursting into the room, he found his son clutching an alien to his chest, staring up at him in triumph.

 

 **_What_** , was all he managed. Arty's face lit up.

 

"She's hairless!"

 

**_Goblin_ **

 

"She's a sphynx cat!" he cried defensively.

 

**_Naked_ **

 

"You said we cannae have a cat cos of the hair," Arty went on. "Well, she's hairless!"

 

**_Alexander_**

 

"Al's not afraid of her," he claimed. James gave him a good _I know better_ look. One of his boys was deathly afraid of cats, he knew that much, he had just temporarily mixed up which one it was. "Well, he says this one's alright," Arty amended.

 

**_Where_ **

 

"In the wardrobe - "

 

**_From where_ **

 

"Oh, er... a cannae tell ye that," he mumbled. _Not good._

 

 **_From where_** , he repeated more forcefully.

 

"Da' - "

 

 **_Stolen?_ ** What was going through the kid's brain?! Smuggling was one thing, but _stealing_ a _cat -_

 

"They were hurting her!" Arthur said hotly, tears springing to his eyes as he ran his fingers over the creature's bony head again and again. The cat was peach-colored, wrinkly, and glaring at him with icy blue eyes. James motioned for him to explain. "Not tellin' ye where she came from, am no takin' her back!" James lifted his head slightly and raised his brows delicately in a well-practiced look that said _take a breath and try again._ Arthur growled lowly as he stroked the cat, but when he spoke next, he sounded a little less antagonistic. "Al an' a found her wae some lads on the way home from school."

 

**_When?_**

 

"The last day, we skipped out early..."

 

Four weeks. James wasn't sure whether he should be horrified or impressed at how long Arthur had kept a living, breathing, meowing, shitting cat a secret.

 

"We dunno where they got her but they'd painted her up an' she was all dizzy from the fumes - " Arthur's voice shook and his lip trembled as he clutched the cat to his chest. James felt his own eyes prickle at the pitiful sight and _damn this parenting nonsense anyway_ , he was always such a sucker when his boys were upset. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Arty's shoulders, pulling the trembling boy to his chest as tightly as he held the blasted cat. "Th-they were throwin' bottles an' shit at her, she was m-meowing cos she was scared, am _n-n-not_ just gonna leave an animal like that!"

 

Arty was fully crying now as he pressed his tear-streaked face into the cat's wrinkled skin. James pressed his own face into his son's hair, trying to...to push some sort of comforting energy at him, anything to help him where words couldn't. They stood there for a long moment, James's arms around a sniffling Arthur whose arms were cradling a grumbling cat.

 

_"MrrrreeeooOOWWWww!"_

 

James jerked back in alarm, certain he was somehow crushing the animal, but Arthur just laughed.

 

"She wants her food...only just opened the can before ye caught up."

 

He brought the cat back to the wardrobe where an open can of wet cat food was waiting. Arthur watched her proudly as James considered what came next. Obviously he couldn't just turn the cat out of doors, but an animal shelter wasn't out of the question. Then again, watching Arthur watch the cat, James knew he couldn't just throw away four weeks of love and care and bonding…

 

Fuck. He definitely had a headache now.

 

**_Name?_ **

 

Arthur stared up at him, full of cautious hope. Seemingly unable to speak, he signed: **_No name._ **

 

**_Why not?_ **

 

Arthur shrugged, considering the cat carefully before shrugging again. James felt a smile tug at his lips. He and Aarti had spent the entire pregnancy debating names. He could definitely relate.

 

 ** _Think of a name_** , he signed and Arthur seemed to stop breathing as his hopes were confirmed.  ** _Use your allowance to buy supplies_** , he went on, as if Arthur hadn't already been doing that. **_Help Alexander or keep them apart._ ** That was the kicker. James didn't care about cat-hair, he had just used that as an excuse so Arthur wouldn't resent his brother for the No Cats policy.

 

"He doesn't mind her - "

 

 **_She cannot live in the wardrobe_** , James rolled his eyes. **_Alexander will see her around. Help him feel safe._ **

 

"He's not so scared, really," Arthur insisted.

 

James shook his head. He knew better. He remembered all too clearly the blood-curdling scream he had heard one night after Alec came across a stray in the alley while taking out the rubbish. The huge, yowling tomcat had cornered him by the dumpster and the eight-year-old had actually wet himself in terror. James wasn't sure if the phobia had always been present or if that was the instigating incident, but he knew better than to allow Arthur to gloss over it carelessly.

 

"Alright, promise," he conceded, shoulders slumping as he looked at Alec's side of the room and seemed to fully consider the task ahead of him.

 

James nodded and put a hand on the wardrobe door to keep Arthur from closing it on reflex, earning him a grin as Arthur realized he could let the cat roam without supervision for once.

 

He closed the bedroom door though, wondering if Arthur had managed yet to acquire a litter box.

 

* * *

 

Monty reached down and righted James's chair, squinting suspiciously at Alec, who was peaking at Minerva with obvious distrust.

 

 **_What was that?_ ** he signed down the table to Alec, who ducked his head and shrugged. He grunted. The boy lifted his head but avoided his gaze by resting his elbows on the table and picking at his sleeves. Monty snorted. He wasn't James. The boys couldn't just ignore him by refusing to look in his direction; he had a voice. A bloody loud one. "Alexander!"

 

Alec jumped and fell forward slightly when his elbows slipped off the table.  _'Guilty as ye please,'_ as Arty had said earlier. Monty looked expectantly at Alec. All four of them were plenty good at non-verbal communication. He'd leave it up to the lad to decide if the rest of the table would be privy to their conversation.

 

 **_Dad told Arthur to feed the cat_** , Alec said vaguely. The others were watching curiously and the air was slightly tense.

 

Monty prompted him to continue.  _And…?_

 

Alec floundered for a moment and Monty hummed in warning when he saw that bony shoulder start to lift in another shrug. Alec looked heavenward for a moment, as if praying for an answer that wouldn't rat out his brother.

 

**_I think Arthur is trying to feed the cat._ **

 

Monty blinked at that, his mind running through all the possible things it could mean before it hit him like a sack of flour. Because it could really only mean one thing.

 

 **_When did Arthur get a cat?_**  He wondered if he should traipse upstairs to save Arty's life now or give it another few minutes. He didn't hear anything, but that didn't mean James wasn't up there signing furiously or flinging some poor feline out the window.

 

Alec bit his lip and didn't answer, but that was all the confirmation he needed. Arthur Charming had smuggled a damn cat into the flat. Monty wondered if his beautiful idiot had spontaneously combusted yet. That wouldn't get him out of making dinner tomorrow, the fiend.

 

Monty heaved an exaggerated sigh, then winked at Alec, who relaxed marginally and returned to watching Minerva suspiciously as he picked at his plate.

 

"Are ye sure ye want these little hell-spawns fer yer school?" he asked the professors lightly, popping an exquisitely roasted slice of potato into his gob.

 

"Er, what's happening?" Ron asked, looking over his shoulder at the door Arty and James had disappeared through on their way upstairs.

 

"James is jus' makin' Al here an only child," he explained casually, spearing another bit of potato. Curious, incredulous, and worried eyes turned to Alec, who grimaced down at the tabletop.

 

"Are you afraid of cats, Mr. Charming?" Minerva asked carefully, trying to catch his eye. Alec twitched tellingly and shrugged again, avoiding her gaze.

 

"Had a bad experience few years back," Monty explained, taking pity on the lad.

 

That night three years ago was the first time James had asked him over to the shop after hours. When he had got that text, Monty nearly wet himself as thoroughly as Al did that night: _Come over pls i need u_. Of course, the dumb bucket had just needed his help in keeping Arty from adopting a feral tomcat while James worked on calming Al after his traumatic experience.

 

Monty owed a new level of his excruciatingly slow-built relationship with James to that childhood trauma. He nearly adopted the tomcat himself.

 

Minerva looked unimpressed and a little offended. Right, because she was a cat herself, apparently. He squinted. Actually, he could see it: she was prim and proud, and those old limbs moved languidly with the promise of his swift demise if he mussed her hair.

 

"How did you and James meet?" Hermione asked suddenly.

 

"Ah, tha's a good story," he began. "Ye wan' the long version or the short one?"

 

"Short one, for the love of god..." Al muttered, sinking his face into his hands in a way that made him look like his father.

 

"It all began seven years ago when a first met the dumb salad what jus' started work at the bakery." He winked at Al, who didn't even see it through his hands. "Worked the same shift, five tae five. He was a beauty, but skinny as a rail, so a brought him homemade treats to fatten 'im up. Ye know, like how a big strong bird woos a wee little bird tha's too stupid tae feed itself properly!"

 

That line earned him some delighted chuckles, it always did. 

 

"Never saw 'im eat the treats, mind. Took 'em home instead, but he swore they were the most delicious he'd ever stuffed in 'is gorgeous gob. Now a crammed those biscuits wae butter an' sugar, but he never gained an ounce, so a knew 'im fer the dirty rotten liar 'e was. It wasn't til a happened upon 'im at the park one day that a knew he had kids, and lo and behold, there's both of 'em wae their fat little fists on ma biscuits!"

 

Alec thumped his head on the table in protest as the others laughed. That Hermione lass, her eyes were sparkling kindly as she looked over at the boy. He decided he liked her a lot.

 

"So a started bakin' for three an' threatened tae turn his rail in tae child services if 'e kept pushin' off his share on them. _'They need vegetables, James!'_ Am the voice of wisdom between us. Then a started packin' up picnics after work. Happened upon my Charming boys in the park every afternoon, casual-like, wae baskets of proper food."

 

"There's a sweet man," Molly cooed quietly to her husband. Monty couldn't help but preen proudly as he went on.

 

"Now anyone else in the world would know a sunset picnic in the park is romantic, but no our James. So it came tae be Valentine's Day an' a make him a nice heart-shaped cake. Stayed up all night tae do it an' had no time fer the frosting but a bring it in tae work fer 'im anyway. Leave it in a pretty little box wae his name on it..." He paused, letting the tension build. "Come tae find him an hour in tae our shift an' dinnae see it anywhere an' he dinnae say nothin', so a reckon he's flustered, like 'e gets sometimes. Only later when am workin' the counter, some old bint is tryin' tae buy ma heart-shaped cake! It had got fancy piping over it by then, but a know ma cake. Ma daft pigeon only went an' decorated it, put it on the block for sale!"

 

Ron snorted and shared a knowing look with Hermione. So maybe Harry had been just as clueless in his day... It was oddly comforting that James Charming's personality before July 1998 was not as mysterious as he thought it was.

 

"An' a told the bint, _'This one's no fer sale,'_ but she really wants it - can tell a good cake when she spots one, good ol' lass - so she calls the manager over an' a explain it's fer James. Ma wee little bird flies in, dumb as dirt, actin' like he's never been wooed wae heart-shaped confectionary before. We end up in the manager's office, she's reaming us both out fer sexually harassing the elderly!" Monty shook his head. "Dunno how we got there, tae be honest."

 

"Was this before or after the raspberry jam incident?" George snickered.

 

"Before," he confirmed. They were just getting started in their long history of tormenting that little bakery that culminated in the jam incident that got James sacked. "Anywho, took five years tae catch tha' bird. Finally wore 'im down wae some erotic chocolates." Ron started choking on his breadstick and Monty flashed a winning smile at the table.

 

"Five _years?_ " Molly asked incredulously.

 

"Aye," he confirmed somberly. "Took the 'hard tae get' game seriously, what wae the boys. An' tae tell the truth, a think Aarti goin' out when she did messed 'im up more than he lets on."

 

"Aarti?" said Molly.

 

Monty nodded in Alec's direction, who seemed to be pretending he couldn't hear the conversation.

 

"She died givin' birth," he explained evenly. He didn't need to sugarcoat it, not even around James, really. But he hadn't lied when he said that the experience traumatized James, who had remained single and celibate for several years. "Only knew each other fer a year, but she got 'im started in 'is new life. Was hard fer 'im tae move on, try again."

 

There was an uncomfortable silence, the kind that made Monty's stomach hurt. Hermione's eyes were glistening in a horrible way. Alec had stopped scraping his fork listlessly around his plate, apparently frozen under so many stares. Monty cleared his throat loudly, coughed, then cleared it again.

 

"Worked out in the end, though. Started sellin' 'is candies at the bakery an' through those mail-orders tha' Remus likes so much." He winked conspiratorially at the pale man. "That was all well an' good when he got sacked, he was able tae work outa his own kitchen for a while before he finally got this place, then a came along tae help out. Then a s'pose we ended up back in the manager's office for sexual - "

 

"LALALALA!" Alec sang, dropping his fork with a clatter to cover his ears. That broke up the somber mood well enough as their guests tittered and blushed.

 

"Sacked?" George asked, leaning around Alec's protruding elbow.

 

"Aw, tha’s the real end tae the jam incident," Monty said, waving a dismissive hand. "Manager let ‘im finish his shift then cut ‘im loose. Said it were a lot of bad publicity an’ she needed tae do somethin’ tae ease the customers’ minds. A reckon she was worried what the neighborhood would think, all those policemen fussin’ all night, draggin’ a brown man outa the store in the wee hours. But James needed a push anyway, an' he does better as his own boss. Plus the nanny wouldn' come back after twenty-four hours wae these two!"

 

"Harry was always independent," Hermione murmured to Ron in a pleased way.

 

"More stubborn," Ron muttered back with a grin.

 

Monty's heart soared at the apt description. James Charming was one stubborn, independent git. It was eerie how similar he was to this Harry Potter... Monty was right to have looked for James's mysterious past life on the Internet last year, even if James wouldn't admit it. One had to know where they came from, even if they couldn't go back!

 

But he hoped James would try to go back, at least a bit. This life they had uncovered was so much more than what he could have imagined. And yeah, some of it was dark and too awful for words, but these people were his _family_. Monty knew too well what it was like to lose family; he couldn't live with himself if he let James turn his own away. And the boys deserved a family too.

 

* * *

 

Ron spun in his chair the moment he heard the kitchen door push open. After twelve years, his eyes felt _starved_ for a glimpse of Harry. The world had given up; the Aurors and Minister Shacklebolt had given up; Remus, Minerva, Mum, Dad, even Hermione had given up. But Ron had given up on Harry before, in the Forest of Dean, and he couldn't do it again.

 

The first night of Harry's disappearance was oddly calm. Ron figured his friend was staying at Grimmauld Place for the night and would return to the Burrow in the morning for breakfast, or maybe lunch. He sent an owl to check on him, but after what must have been an emotional visit, Harry apparently wasn't in the mood for a chat and the post was returned undelivered. That was alright. Sometimes Harry needed a good brood. Ron resolved to go to Grimmauld Place to snap him out of it if he hadn't visited by lunch the next day.

 

Of course, the next day Harry didn't come by and Ron didn't find him at Grimmauld Place. He was only curious then, not worried. The Aurors had been tailing Harry since May for his protection. He was surely fine, just not where Ron could find him.

 

But then dinner was interrupted by a floo call from Head Auror Robards:  _"Has Potter been by today? We lost visual last night."_  That's when the panic hit, wave after wave after ten-thousand-pound wave of horror and _panic_ , crashing into him relentlessly. Mum started cursing the family clock, cursing herself for not having added Harry's name. George had to physically restrain Ginny from running off to who knows where, wand drawn. Dad looked...utterly broken, in that moment, in a way Ron hadn't even seen at Fred's funeral. 

 

The Head Auror was no match for Hermione's rapid-fire questioning and that's when they learned about the collapsed house in Godric's Hollow, the six dead witches and wizards inside, the wand which _priori incantatem_ revealed to have cast the Cruciatus Curse. They learned that Harry had asked for a moment of privacy from his DMLE guard, a moment to himself to visit his parents, a moment of peace. And that was the last anyone heard from him for twelve years.

 

The Aurors labeled the case cold after five years. Remus and Hermione tried to talk to him, tried to get him to maybe consider referring to Harry in the past tense... Mum and Dad hosted a private memorial service that summer, which Ron refused to attend because _he wasn't giving up._ Even if Harry was dead, he deserved more than to simply disappear into oblivion. He deserved his last moments to be known. Ron would find those answers, he would find Harry if he was out there, but at the very least he would find what happened to his friend.

 

Or Remus would. That was okay too.

 

The point being: Harry was back, more or less, and Ron was right not to give up on him.

 

He watched the man who was once his best friend limp back into the kitchen, hand guiding his young-but-far-too-old son, Arthur.

 

"HA!" Monty barked, startling everyone but the boys and Harry. "So ye got yerself a stowaway!" Arthur smiled sheepishly and Harry rolled his eyes, looking so much like his old self.

 

Harry returned to his seat, limping all the way and giving Alec a squeeze on his shoulder as he passed. Arthur sat next to his brother and then Harry started back into his sign language.

 

"Are cats allowed at school?" Arthur translated, eyes sparkling. Alec looked a bit nauseous.

 

"Yes, and I imagine you read that in the supplies list yesterday, you were quite thorough," McGonagall answered, looking at Harry knowingly. He seemed to force a smile before he continued signing:

 

"Whose was the white owl?"

 

Ron blinked before the question registered. His head whipped over to Hermione - she was just as breathless as he felt - before he answered:

 

"That would be your old familiar, Hedwig." His heart was hammering in his chest. Complete amnesia, ha! Not bloody likely. Harry was still in there somewhere, he acted too much like himself to be anyone else, whatever name he was going by these days.

 

"Orange cat?" Arthur spoke.

 

"Mine," Hermione practically squealed. "He's still around, his name is Crookshanks."

 

"What else do you remember?" Ron blurted. Hermione nudged him subtly but he shrugged her off. "What? Erumpent in the room, let's talk about it." He met Harry's steady gaze. Harry never shied away from anything. Ron knew he was up for it. "What have you remembered over the years? Or dreamt about? Anything at all, even if it doesn't make sense, I'll bet it's something real!"

 

Harry eagerly launched into a long series of signs, his nimble hands flying through the motions so naturally. Ron wondered if he would ever catch up, once he started learning. Because of course he would be learning how to communicate with Harry; now that he had him back, nothing would keep him from his friend.

 

Arthur translated easily, watching his dad as he went on and on:

 

"Green light, lotta green light, dragons, a bad fire, flying on brooms, the white owl and orange cat, you, Hermione, an old man wae long white hair an' a beard, some tetchy blond git, an actual _giant,_  really Da'? Er - a motorbike that flies, a great big snake an' its big teeth, some sorta car crash but...er, the tree was fighting back?" Harry nodded to confirm, still staring right at Ron almost in a challenging way. "Always red things, like furniture an' rugs an' shit - sorry Da', _stuff_ , he said stuff - an' makin' potions, there was a bloke wae red eyes an' no nose - bloody hell - an' those wands you lot have, 'cept they, er...the people cast horrible spells, pain and death..."

 

Arthur trailed off somberly as Harry's hands finally stilled. The room was silent once more and Ron felt a bit guilty for causing it. Harry obviously remembered quite a lot but without any context, without names to stick with the faces, he hadn't had a hope of piecing it all together in a way that made sense and -

 

Monty was laughing. Laughter did not fit in this moment at all. It was like trying to pick back up in his favorite childhood comic, The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, but accidentally flipping to the wrong page and reading ahead. It felt wrong, out of place.

 

"Ye...oh James...ye poor bugger..." Harry was looking at Monty dubiously but apparently unsurprised at this reaction. "No wonder ye never wanna talk about it..." Monty's face was turning red as he laughed. "Ye sound like a madman! Potions, flyin' motorbikes, homicidal trees!"

 

"All of that is absolutely true," Hermione defended.

 

"Oh am no sayin' it's mad," Monty said, wiping a tear and heaving himself to his feet. "Am sayin' he musta thought _he_ were mad all these years, the poor bugger..." He bent over Harry and pressed a kiss to that dense mop of hair while Harry rolled his eyes. "Who's fer dessert?"

 

They spent the rest of the evening eating luxurious chocolate and telling Harry and his family about themselves. Remus was quiet - Ron wondered if the story of Aarti’s passing was hitting close to home or if he was just overwhelmed by the chocolate - but Teddy forged a fast bond with the boys. George was their personal hero, it seemed, and Harry looked equal parts delighted and concerned about the inevitable trip to the Diagon Alley joke shop. Ron wondered if the twins knew yet that George himself had been a twin once, if there was some weird twin energy unfolding between them now. _Thick as thieves_ couldn't begin to cover it.

 

Mum and Dad looked perfectly content, as if they were in their own kitchen. Dad bumbled through a dozen work stories at once, mixing up the names and events, trying to answer all of Harry's eager questions. Mum had that tell-tale look in her eye as she beamed over at Harry and Monty. She was right pleased to have her surrogate son back, and to find him happy and in love. 

 

Because they were obviously in love, Harry and Monty. The Scottish man was loud, boisterous, full of a raucous energy that could only be compared to fireworks or a very close Quidditch match. Harry met him tit for tat, answering it all with looks, touches, and signs. He fed off of it, sometimes he signed back and seemed to push for more. Ron knew when someone was taking the piss, even silently and in another language, and Harry had plenty of practice with Monty and his boys. It was everything Ron had ever wanted for Harry: a family, a happy life, a noisy kitchen, plenty of chocolate.

 

Perfect.

 

Now he just had to get James to accept Harry.

 

* * *

 

It was close to midnight when James saw their guests leave, each with a small box of Charming Chocolates. Monty placed a hand behind James's troublesome hip, helping to ease him up the stairs. It wasn't the worst he had felt, but it took the bannister, his cane, and Monty threatening to carry him bridal-style to bed before James made it upstairs.

 

As he paused to rest - bloody hell, why was he so wiped? - Monty signed in the dim light of the hall.

 

**_You have a good family._ **

 

James blinked. 

 

 **_I know_** , he answered. Monty looked at him pointedly and James rolled his eyes.  _Oh for fuck's sake… **R**_ ** _emember R-O-N, H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E_** , he conceded. 

 

And that was one of the oddest things he had experienced these past twelve years. Even odder than getting hit by that car, which Arthur had darted in front of, and walking away without a scratch… He had finally met someone who didn't just look faintly familiar, but _was_ familiar. If Ron or Hermione had walked into his shop without an introduction, he wouldn't have known their names, but he would have known without a doubt that _he knew them_. Countless dreams and memories of playing chess in the room with the red furniture; doing homework with a quill in a library; hurrying through corridors while pressed together, hidden under some sort of liquid-fabric; huddled together in a tent that was bigger on the inside…

 

Magic.

 

The idea of it had always intrigued him: it featured in all of the best (in his opinion) bedtime stories that he read to his boys and it was a popular theme for their shop at Halloween. Witch hats and brooms and cauldrons decorated the shop nearly every October, except last year, when Arthur finally convinced him to go with a superhero theme instead. (Which proved to be much more popular than James would like to admit.)

 

Magic also explained his dreams, his nonsensical but vivid memories, and all of those weird things that seemed to happen around the Charming men. James’s mobile phones shorting out the moment he felt any strong emotion at all; Alec somehow managing to get that bloody robot working after a year of troubleshooting had driven him to the edge (even now they had no idea how it worked, beeping and booping away without any actual power source); Arthur mouthing off to the wrong bunch of lads and somehow ending up on top of the brawl, unscathed.

 

He heard all of those stories told by the others tonight and wanted to run away and also to hurl himself back into that world. Danger was abundant: dragons, giant spiders, merpeople holding children hostage underwater, unblockable spells that tortured or instantly killed. But the magic of it all was so enticing, so wonderful. He wanted to fly again, those were always the best dreams. He wanted to charm his shoelaces to tie themselves. He wanted his hands on some chocolate frogs. He wanted to throw a hex at that blond git that sneered at him in so many memories.

 

He wanted all of the good things for his boys, none of the bad. But that was parenting. He was still learning how to let his children fight their own battles. He nearly got himself nicked (again) after Arthur’s legendary fight last year, when he went to confront the high school boys who thought they could just pick a fight with anyone. He could think of plenty of good uses for those magic prank-products George was talking about, if he could manage to sneak into Alec’s old English teacher’s office, the bastard…

 

 ** _Risky_** , he tried to explain to Monty. It felt flat and weak.

 

 ** _H-A-R-R-Y survived,_ ** Monty huffed. James supposed that was true. Harry had been the center of it all and he had come through alright. But all those others, the kids who didn’t make it… **_Not all or nothing, not all at once. One day at a time._ **

 

James frowned. It _was_ all or nothing though...if he let them on that scarlet train, it would take them too far from home, too far for James to protect them, to help them. What if someone’s pet cat cornered Alec? What if Arthur got himself in another tiff with older students again, students who carried magic wands? What if another noseless dark lord rose up out of the shadows and sought revenge on Harry Potter by going after Arthur and Alexander Charming?

 

Monty seemed to guess what he was thinking, like he always did.  ** _If you say no?_ ** he asked.  ** _Do you think P-O-T-T-E-R wizard spawn are content to sit at home twiddling thumbs?_ **

 

James rolled his eyes. He didn’t know this Potter bloke like Monty apparently did, but his Charming boys were a force to be reckoned with. They defied the laws of nature weekly, possibly the laws of magic. All those books on raising independent, well-rounded kids, and not a one warned him about the complete and utter destruction his twins would be capable of when they put their minds together.

 

He just hoped Hogwarts could handle them.

 

He heaved a great sigh and finally nodded, then turned to head for their room. He needed a hot bath. As he reached for the doorknob, he saw the white of an eyeball peeking through a crack in the door down the hall. Monty grinned over James’s shoulder and flashed a quick thumbs up. The eyeball widened and James frowned.

 

 **_We will talk about the cat later_** , he added to the peeping twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on a name for the cat, weighing some options. Trying to keep you on the edge of your seat, stay tuned.


	3. Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Draco and also some other stuff happens. Ending on some bitter chocolate this time.

**August 1st, 2010**

_THE BOY-WHO-LIVED ONCE MORE!_

Yesterday marked the 30th birthday of our beloved Boy-Who-Lived and Man-Who-Conquered, who disappeared 12 years ago, and shoppers at Diagon Alley were astonished to see our hero walk the streets again! Mr. Harry Potter was accompanied by two children, an unidentified man, long-time friends Auror Ronald Weasley-Granger and Unspeakable Hermione Granger-Weasley, as well as a small contingent of undercover Aurors who came forward as the crowd became more excited.

No one in the group provided any answers as to Mr. Potter's whereabouts for the last decade. He appeared to be on a shopping excursion for Hogwarts school supplies for the two children, identical twin boys who bear a striking resemblance to Mr. Potter himself. (See photo below.) Mr. Potter wore Muggle clothes and a hat that covered most of his trademark scar, and he was recognized first by Flourean Fortescu of Flourean Fortescu's Ice Cream Parlour. His hat was lost in the subsequent commotion, revealing his scar and confirming his identity.

Long believed to be dead after an apparent attack by dark wizards in Godric's Hollow, Mr. Potter appeared to be in good health, though he walked with a cane and became noticeably uncomfortable with the excitement of the crowd.

Witnesses had this to say:

"I thought he were a ghost!" said Ninian Jerome, a witch from London. "He didn't say anything neither, seemed jumpy if you ask me. I suppose that's to be expected, what with all the excitement."

"It was surreal!" claimed Amity Franklyn, of Cork. "Never thought I'd see another Potter and then there were three of them! All the spitting image of each other, of James [Potter]! I'll tell you, it took me back to my Hogwarts days when James's friends once used Polyjuice Potion to play a prank in class. Half expected Sirius Black to be behind it, to be honest! But the Aurors were there, so it must really be him. Harry, I mean, not James."

Arvel Siddall, of Cardiff: "I'll wager ten Galleons that was a Muggle man with him. I can spot [Muggles] a mile away, see. Not that I have anything against [Muggles]! And if I didn't know any better, I'd've wagered his kids were Muggleborn too. But they were definitely his kids, couldn't be anyone else's. Might've been triplets with enough aging potion! Their first trip to Diagon Alley, I'd wager. [Potter] must have kept them far from the wizarding world in order to get that proper Muggleborn look on their faces. Can't say I blame him, that was a bit much back there, that crowd. Maybe the Muggle world is a simpler life for him, you know? Always struck me as the type who'd like a simple life. I can spot a kindred spirit a mile away."

More details and a timeline of events surrounding Harry Potter's disappearance in 1998 can be found on page 8.

* * *

 

Draco closed his eyes and hummed his pleasure around the chocolate truffle, relishing how his front teeth sank through the firm outer shell and into the soft ganache within.

"Can you not do that, please?" Blaise asked, lip curling. Draco didn't even bother opening his eyes, he simply raised a finger, still cradling the truffle with love, and carried on with his savoring. "Not decent..."

He gave a sensual moan.

"People can _hear_ you, you twat!" his friend hissed. Draco snorted, opening his eyes to look pointedly at their surroundings. The Janus Thickey Ward was not exactly teeming with gossips.

"Nobody here is in any position to judge me. I wipe their arses daily," he retorted, reaching for another truffle only to be batted away. "Oi! Those are mine!"

"When your mummy stops buying sweets for you," Blaise argued, "you can say they're yours. When's the last time you went to..." he looked down at the label on the box, shiny gold script on red, "...Charming Chocolates to buy your own?"

"Even Mummy doesn't go to buy her own," he said. "They've a mail-order system." Enough said. Or it should have been, but he was in the presence of Blaise -

"Convenient for the house-arrested," he laughed delightedly. "Mail-order chocolate. Brilliant."

Narcissa Malfoy was sentenced to ten years house arrest for her part in the war. Lucius Malfoy was not so lucky; he served five years in Azkaban and was currently serving an additional ten at Malfoy Manor. His punishment had not left him all...there, in the head. Sometimes Draco caught him arranging the furniture for another dread meeting with the Dark Lord. Sometimes the sight of it sent Draco himself on a spiral, and sometimes his mother had to coax him back out of it with a box of chocolates and a syrupy cup of tea.

If only the long-time patients in the Janus Thickey Ward knew how much they had in common with their Healer. Then again, if they were able to make such connections, they probably wouldn’t need a bed in this ward. There was an outpatient program, after all.

"They're the only Muggle shop that does it right," Draco insisted. It was a long-held secret that he preferred Muggle to magical chocolate. Or it had been, until his mother blabbed to Blaise and Blaise blabbed to everyone and their aunt. "Everything else comes through the post dry or melted. Don't know what the secret is, but theirs is never wanting."

"Maybe they're _charming_ the boxes like an upstanding magical citizen?"

"I've checked." And he had. Twelve years after the war, he was still checking his post for spells. "It's just a decent quality packed in a suitable shipping container. The good shops don't usually bother with mail-order, they've enough customers to do without."

"I don't actually care, you know," Blaise sighed. Draco swatted him with the newspaper they had been pouring over just minutes ago.

"You come into my place of business - "

"Loony bin."

" - you interrupt what precious time I have with my literature - "

"Gossip-rag."

" - you judge my manners - "

"Lack thereof."

" - and my chocolate - "

"Muggle-loving berk."

"You've gone through an awful lot this past quarter-hour to claim you don't actually care," Draco finished, wrestling the box away from Blaise and claiming another truffle. _Circe's tits, this ganache is top rate._

"Eh," Blaise shrugged dismissively, flipping open the newspaper once more to the front page. Draco gazed over his shoulder at the massive photo on the front page as the chocolate melted over his tongue.

Harry Potter.

There he was, looking like a confused pigeon that found itself in the middle of a pack of geese. Except the geese were witches and wizards. And instead of pecking him, they pulled on his rumpled t-shirt and tried to get his attention; they poked his cane curiously, even reverently; they silently shouted a barrage of questions while he stared around with wide, slightly panicked, entirely confused eyes.

Two young boys stood to the left and slightly behind Potter. Draco didn’t miss how his hand - the one not gripping the cane with white knuckles - came out in front of them protectively as the group was jostled by the crowd. They didn’t look panicked, but rather in awe of what was happening. Draco tried to imagine what it would be like at the epicenter of a Potter-riot. Actually, they looked like they were having fun...

The sight of the boys threw Draco back to that day in Madam Malkin’s almost twenty years ago: they were dressed as Muggles, just as Potter himself had been that day. But instead of oversized and threadbare rags, one of the Potter-clones wore some sort of denim coverall piece that must have been a cosmic joke. It was stained everywhere with bright paint and dark ink, the straps at his shoulders were twisted haphazardly, and the trouser cuffs were rolled up unevenly. His sneakers were pink - _pink!_ \- and the shirt under his coverall was the brightest shade of yellow that could possibly be captured by any camera, magical or otherwise. Any brighter and it would have eclipsed the entire photo.

The other boy wore clothes similar to Potter Senior himself: a striped t-shirt, denim trousers (though his were more fitted than Potter the Pigeon, who apparently still couldn’t dress himself properly), and brown ankle-high boots which were clunky and incongruent with the rest of his outfit.

Each boy, despite dressing like buffoons on opposite ends of the buffoon spectrum, had the same warm brown skin and the trademark mop of black hair that Potter Senior sported. He wondered if their eyes were that same bright green too. It would be fitting, he mused, that Potter managed to come back from the dead (again) three times more powerful and annoying than before.

He wondered at the Muggle man that stood behind the trio. He was the same height as Potter but twice as wide with brawny muscles and hairy arms under his fitted-and-appropriately-colored shirt. The hand he rested on Potter’s right hip was telling. So. Potter played for his own Quidditch team. Judging by the Potter-spawn, of course, he was possibly bisexual, and Draco wondered how long -

“Staring again, are you?” Blaise asked without looking up from re-reading the article. The smirking bastard.

Draco said nothing and simply pointed at the boy with the more outlandish clothes, by way of explanation.

“Mm. I’m rather fond of that shade of yellow, actually.” Draco balked. “Oh don’t worry, I won’t be subjecting your poor eyes to my _private preferences._ ” The way he said it made it clear what he was thinking and Draco narrowed his eyes, considering whether it was better to play dumb.

“You’re a bitch,” he decided, packing up what remained of his chocolates and _not_ leaving one for Blaise. He had to get back to work. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom would be receiving a visit from their son later and Draco wanted them in proper clothes again. He detested those hideous bed-slippers.

* * *

 

Alexander Charming was not an athletic boy by any means, but he liked to know how things _worked_. So he found himself clutching a broomstick in the back garden of the Burrow, a crowd of mostly-ginger spectators watching and calling out advice to the three Charming men.

Dad was dubiously staring down at what was called a Firebolt, a broomstick that was top of the line fifteen years ago and still held a legit reputation, even among people who flew professionally. (According to Ginny Weasley, who was one of those professionals.) And wasn’t that a wild concept, flying broomsticks as a profession!

Alec gave up trying to call his broom into his hand and simply bent down to pick it up. Next to him, Arty was a little more successful and managed to stoop down and catch the broom when it twitched a few inches off of the ground. Dad seemed to freeze when he saw his old broom and Alec just _knew_ it was one of those moments when he was remembering something. Which was fascinating, of course, but he wished he would hurry it up so they could get to the good part.

Dad snapped back to reality when Ginny approached him.

“Alright there, Harry?” she asked gently.

Alec thought it was hilarious when people called Dad by that name, it was so weird! Almost weirder than being accepted into magic school, in a way. Of all the crazy names and personas that he and Arty had invented over the years for their dad’s mysterious past life, Harry the Wizard-Hero was just hysterically funny.

Dad gave Ginny a strange look that Alec had no hope of interpreting. He nodded stiffly and then held his hand over the broom, like she showed them earlier. Immediately, without even a beckoning gesture, the broom leapt into Dad’s waiting hand with a woosh of air like it was magnetized.

_What the hell?_

It was one thing to wave a magic wand and cause proper magic spells to happen, but a sentient broom? Or was it Dad’s magic, without a wand? Was it innate or learned? Did the ability to summon a broom grow stronger as one got older? Alec filed these questions away for later. Hermione was a wealth of information.

A few knowing titters from the spectators and Monty’s surprised but ever-supportive whoop from the sidelines. Ginny showed them how to properly mount the broom. Arthur was already floating but she called him back down and explained the importance of a proper kick-off. Alec’s palms were sweating as he gripped _the stick of wood_ that would _supposedly_ keep him from _plummating to his death._

This had to be one of his stupider ideas. Why did he ever do anything in the name of science? It only led to half-melted robots and suicidal flights of fancy.

“Alright, kick off!” Ginny called, taking off on her own Rosco 7.

Alec kicked the ground, feeling more like he stubbed his toe, and felt his stomach drop out of him.

Oh god, he was flying!

The ground was dropping away, the people were getting shorter and smaller as he rose above their heads. Arty was literally just _screaming_ beside him, whether in terror or joy, Alec couldn’t tell. The broom felt too thin and small to hold him up. Death was imminent. He clutched the handle and prayed to the laws of magic-physics. He was trembling, shaking, his feet kept sliding off the hooks behind him. He just wanted to land, he could ask his questions from the safety and comfort of the ground!

No, he could do this! He _would_ do this. Arty stopped screaming long enough to take a breath and start screaming again, looking a little less terrified and a little more excited. If Arty was doing it without passing out or falling off, Alec could too!

He sneaked a glance to his other side, reaching out a quivering hand to find his dad, like he had when they had learned how to swim. But Dad was gone!

A shadow passed overhead and he flinched on reflex before looking up to see his dad moving faster than he had ever seen him move before. He was soaring through the air, clothes rippling in the wind, hair fluttering madly. A huge smile was splitting his face apart as he laughed silently, gleefully. Alec’s mouth dropped open. Dad flew in wide, smooth, fast circles, darting here and there along the treeline before soaring high above. Arty gave a great shriek when Dad turned over in the air and pointed the nose of his broom straight down, sinking into a fast and lethal dive -

_“DAD!”_

He pulled out of the dive within inches of the ground, his toes skimming the grass as he leveled out the nose of the broom before coasting over to Alec.

 ** _Fun!_** he signed, breathing heavily. Alec was struck dumb.

“Dad, what the fuck…?” Arty croaked weakly. Dad didn’t even snap his fingers like he usually did when they swore, he just huffed another laugh, winked, and took off again.

“Still got it!” Ron cried out happily as he brought his own broom over to hover between the brothers. Dad waved in acknowledgement but didn’t slow down on his mission to fly every possible route through the garden air as quickly as possible.

And exactly how quickly was possible? Alec wondered. He leaned forward experimentally and tried valiantly not to piss himself when the broom began moving. Arthur held a hand on Ron’s broom and the man guided him through the air a bit faster than Alec was going; they were turning, rising, and falling at random. Alec tentatively pulled on his right hand and wobbled over in that direction, nearly upsetting his balance. He resettled himself and watched as his dad flew by him confidently. He watched carefully...there!

He _pushed_ his left hand against the handle instead and discovered that the broom responded much more smoothly this time. He turned in the air, then straightened out again.

An hour later, Alec was getting the hang of this flying business. It all started with the position of his hands, the force of pushing and pulling the broom in different directions. He discovered he could gain speed considerably fast if he used his legs to help him straighten out flat on the broom handle (and Dad only just saved him from speeding right into a tree). Shifting his weight to one side or another while he leaned forward caused the broom to drift in a way that had Ginny babbling to him excitedly about Chasers and technique.

The sick feeling in his stomach turned into something a little more tolerable, like the wonderful feeling he got when he was in a car that went down a sudden dip in the road. He might do this again one day. He _would_ do this again, for science. For curiosity.

Now if only he knew how to land.

* * *

 

**September 1st, 2010**

James tugged at the warm knit cap, feeling hot and irritated. This stupid bloody magic nonsense had already ruined a perfectly good day out with his family and stolen his favorite hat, and now it was taking his boys away to boarding school until _mid-December_.

He remembered how oddly quiet their home was when Alec went to space camp every summer, and that was only a week. One week! And he always had Arthur to keep him company then. Now he would just have Monty, and a small bitter part of him was angry at Monty for encouraging this stupid bloody magic nonsense in the first place. It was all his fault.

Monty hooked a pinky around his finger as they took in the hustle and bustle of Platform 9 & ¾. James took a cleansing breath. Ron and Hermione flanked them, disguised as a nondescript strawberry-blond couple, and a multitude of Aurors were scattered about the platform (or so James was told). Monty's hair was black, which looked strange and wrong against his skin.

And the Charmings were _white_.

James had never felt so invisible in a crowd, but he couldn't stop his own staring. His boys, stubborn proponents of dressing themselves ever since they were old enough to open the wardrobe, had never managed to look as mismatched as they did today. Arthur was almost himself, but his skin was significantly lightened and he looked ethnically ambiguous. His hair was charmed into a copper color that nearly blended in with his new skin. Under these changes, however, the same bone structure and green eyes remained.

Alec, on the other hand, was masquerading as Teddy Lupin, who had donated a hair to something called Polyjuice Potion. He was tall and white, with mousy brown hair and a small round face. Teddy himself was on the other end of the platform with his father; he was sporting his trademark turquoise hair and had changed his nose, cheeks, and eyes for the occasion. Lupin - no, _Remus_ \- told him yesterday how excited Teddy was to practice a bit of Auror-sanctioned trickery.

James himself was the test subject of a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes beta-product. He had choked down a grainy white "chocolate" and then watched his brown skin fade to pale pink. His hair was still his own though, and his scar remained, so Ron had fished out this priceless artifact from the depths of the Auror department and now James was sporting a warm knit cap in September to fool the entire wizarding world.

What could go wrong.

"Stop it, button," Monty muttered lowly so that no one but James could hear. James lifted his chin slightly but didn't respond to the mind-reading git. "We'll see 'em off an' then we'll go fer some ice cream."

James knew that he must have inherited some of Harry Potter's legendary courage, given that he resisted falling to the ground in hysterics. He didn't want ice cream. He wanted his boys back at home, safe and sound, stealing cats and building robots.

One of the many parenting books on his shelf at home was Learning to Let Go, by Frida Macías. He had read it again over the past few weeks and seriously considered emailing the author to ask: "Summer camps and exchange programs are all well and good, but what if you're harassed into sending your babies away to magic murder school?" _Ha! Weigh in on that, Frida, you condescending grape._

Their mismatched group approached the train and James limped along, missing his cane with every step. Bloody hell, his busted hip couldn't give him a break. The blasted cane was too distinctive for their covert mission today so he had left it behind in the Ministry car. The hot, sticky air, the paranoia as he took in every seemingly innocent face around them, the disgusting chocolate that had been forced upon him earlier… He felt like he was on the verge of magically growing back his vocal cords just for the satisfaction of screaming his mounting frustration to the world.

While Ron and Hermione moved ahead to help load the luggage and the cat-carrier onto the train, Monty pulled the boys around for a gruff goodbye. _Not so suave now,_ James thought with satisfaction, blinking away his own tears at the sound of the Scotsman's choked words. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't -_

"Da'?" Alec whispered from Teddy Lupin's borrowed form. "Alright?"

James pulled a face and a tear spilled over. He swiped it away quickly and managed a quick nod, throat burning. _Don't laugh at me, kiddo._ He didn't think he could take it if they laughed at him today. It wasn't fair. He was giving them what they wanted. He was doing his best.

Alec reached out a hand and James yanked him in for a tight embrace, squeezing every bit of love and support he had into a single hug that had to last until _mid-December_. Alec squeezed back.

Frida hadn't prepared him for this moment.

Alec pulled back and switched places with Arthur, who was looking a little peaky. James heroically resisted the urge to check his temperature and drag him back home. Arty didn't say anything. He was struck silent for once in his life. He had never even been to summer camp.

 ** _Be kind_** , James signed stupidly, not knowing what advice to give. Arty nodded. **_No fighting._** Arty pursed his lips and James glared at him. It seemed to lose some heat through the traitorous tears.

"Put some sprinkles on fer me," Arty said, falsely bright, ducking in for a fierce hug. Something horrible pulled in James's chest when he realized he was about to go out for ice cream without his boys for the first time in his life. _What the fuck, Frida?!_ This was all her fault. Hers and Monty's.

He was almost grateful for Ron and Hermione's interruption.

"We're putting them on the train now," Ron muttered, gazing somewhere off to the side and nodding at someone James couldn't see.

 ** _What is wrong?_** he asked, panic gripping his heart and making it hard to breathe. Monty relayed his question and Hermione placed a hand on James's elbow.

"The Aurors saw some suspicious activity, but nothing to be alarmed about!" she added quickly when James jerked around in her grasp. He surveyed the platform with huge eyes, taking in the students and families that were milling about. Suspicious activity, what did that mean? He'd heard that phrase on the news countless times and he felt helpless, utterly _useless_ against it. He couldn't do anything against a Theoretical Something, what was he _looking_ for?

"It's nothing," Ron assured him, ushering the boys toward the train.

James followed and Hermione put up a hand between them, as if she could stop him from following. He snarled at her and pushed past, limping after them. He would see them on the train, he would ride the train himself if he had to -

"Remember the counter-charm when you're settled," Ron said to Arty, referring to his charmed appearance. _"Finite incantatem."_ Ron stayed alert, James noted, as he spoke softly to both boys and guided them through the crowd. He looked like a proper secret agent. _What have you gotten us into, Harry Potter?_ "We put your things at the end of the train, second to last compartment. The last compartment has Aurors in it. If you need anything, just knock on the wall."

"What'd they see?" asked Monty, lagging just behind James.

"Two wizards with no children," Ron mumbled. "Not aggressive, but there's no reason for them to be here." The tension in his voice shot straight to James's spine. He wanted to hover over his kids, to cover their vulnerable bodies with his own until they were on the train, and he would tear apart anyone who so much as looked at them -

They reached the steps onto the train. James blew past Ron and kept moving forward at full speed, pushing Alec and Arthur up into the carriage. He looked to either side, distinctly remembering the same narrow corridor from his own train ride to Hogwarts years ago. He pulled them to the left, limping through a crowd of students until they reached the compartment near the back.

The boys were chattering excitedly, oblivious to the danger that could be following them even now, even on the train. Just because they weren't out in the open didn't mean they were safe. Being trapped inside could lead to disaster! He bolted over to the window as the boys settled into the cushioned benches on either side. The window slid open from the bottom and he judged both its size and distance from the floor. His boys were small, but he reckoned they could reach the opening and fit through it if something happened.

"Get off the train, you nutter!" Ron laughed from the corridor. Remus and Teddy arrived at his side, peering into the compartment curiously.

 **_Not safe_** , he signed, but the boys only rolled their eyes in unison and didn't translate, the little shits.

"Come on, Harry," Ron went on, stepping over to allow Remus and Teddy inside. "Remus teaches Defense, he'll be in the compartment with them the whole time. And there's a team of Aurors next door, so you don't need to worry!"

 _I can't not worry_ , James thought. _I can't do this, I can't let go, Frida! I can't send them off to the slaughter!_

 **_I am going with them_** , he said.

"Ye are not!" Arty cried out in horror.

"What'd he say?" asked Ron, eyeing James suspiciously.

"Da', no!" Alec demanded, like he was speaking to a dog. "Bloody h - can you imagine what the others will think if they see you _escorting_ us to school?!"

"Ye cannae walk us tae the front door!" Arty added. "This isn't our first day of primary!"

"Harry - James," Ron corrected himself. "I know you're scared." James looked away from those pitying eyes, choosing instead to glare at the cat in Arty's pet-carrier on the overhead shelf. It met his gaze challengingly and he found himself trying not to blink. "But I _promise_ you, they're safe. I'll be next door myself, I won't let anything happen to them, I swear it."

James crossed his arms and leaned back against the window-frame, coincidentally blocking the boys from the view of the platform. From the _suspicious activity_.

"Oh ma god," Monty's voice boomed out from the platform. "James, ye Richard!" James reached behind his back awkwardly and fumbled the window shut, muffling Monty's latest rant.

"Perhaps he could take the train in," Remus suggested tentatively, prompting loud protests from the twins. Teddy pushed a nervous hand through his bright hair. "I'll get him home again once we've arrived."

"It's not necessary," Ron argued.

 _But it won't hurt anyone!_ James thought viciously. Why were they trying to keep him from his kids? Wild thoughts began to fly through his panicked mind. Could he even trust these people?! What could Aurors do anyway? Would they really be willing to do whatever it took to protect the boys? They didn't protect Harry! James shoved past Ron and stumbled into the corridor, the pain in his hip screaming down his leg and up his back, stealing his breath away. He yanked open the door to the last compartment.

Three grown wizards in dark robes leapt up with their wands drawn, aiming right for James's chest.

_Pain explodes in his hip and sends him crashing into the damp half-rotted floor. He gasps and cries out, tasting blood in his mouth. He squirms and tries to keep moving forward, sending fresh waves of pain radiating through his bones. Something warm is blossoming through his clothes and he wonders if he's pissed himself._

_Just a moment ago, he was sprinting agilely through the house and now he knows he's in pieces._

_They catch up then, surrounding him. He peaks up through his fringe, moaning out his agony through busted lips, and sees every wand trained on him. Sees his own wand clasped in the hand of the wizard in front of him._

"Dad!"

_"You can't kill him," one of the figures says. "You'll bring the whole Ministry down on us."_

"Dad, come off it!"

“Oi, you can’t just - ”

"Harry, they're Aurors! What's gotten into - "

_"Best just to Obliviate him and get out of here," agrees someone else._

_"You can break through an Obliviation, Dung," someone argues hotly. "No one has to find the body."_

"Mr. Potter, don't do anything stupid!"

"Put the wand down, sir!"

_"Give it a try," the second voice, Dung, pleads. "If you can b-break through it, we'll figure something else out. B-but we don't have to kill him!"_

_"Obliviate!"_

_Expelliarmus!_ The word flashed in his mind with singular clarity as James jabbed the wand forward, sending the closest dark figure flying into the back wall of the compartment and a second wand hurtling through the air. James caught it and turned the first wand on the last remaining target

"Whoa-ly _shite!"_ Arthur shouted.

"Dad!" Alec stepped directly in front of his wand and grabbed James's arm in a vice grip. His stomach jolted at the sight of a wand in Alec's face and James dropped both sticks to the ground as if they had burned him. He blinked rapidly down at his son, whose hair and skin were beginning to darken. The Polyjuice was wearing off.

"What the fuck was that?!" Arthur squeaked, looking between James and the Aurors.

"He has flashbacks," explained Alec, looking up at Ron with urgency. "That's what it was, right, Dad?" James nodded numbly, watching the Auror climb back to his feet. Alec stooped down and snatched up the stolen wands. "Here," he said, holding the two wands out to the trio of wary Aurors. "Just, maybe don't point it at him."

"You shouldn't take someone's wand like that, we nearly gutted you," the wizard snapped as he tucked his wand into a sleeve.

"You shouldn't be so easily disarmed by Muggle means," Ron shot back. "Bloody pathetic show, that. You're an Auror, act like it!" He sent Teddy, Alec, and Arty back into their compartment, grumbling under his breath.

"Are you alright?" Remus asked gently.

James blinked, then nodded, not even seeing the Aurors staring back at him. The pain in his hip felt fresh, he felt like he was still broken into pieces. His _throat_ hurt. From screaming.

But the floor beneath his feet was firm and thinly carpeted, not soft with sodden, rotted boards. He sucked in a cleansing breath. He wasn't there. Wherever _there_ was, he wasn't there anymore. He was here, stealing wands and hexing people into the wall and leaving it up to Alexander to bring him back. He was here, with Ron and Remus and the Aurors. He was here, with his boys and Teddy staring at him through their compartment window.

And he had to let them go.

He exhaled, breath shuddering, and hobbled off the train. Monty, for once, didn't say anything. They went for ice cream.

* * *

 

**September 2nd, 2010**

_Dear Harry and Monty,_

_The Sorting Ceremony last night went exceedingly well. The Sorting Hat was particularly pleased to meet your children, and Minerva reports that the hat was still talking about them this morning with Dumbledore's portrait._

_Arthur was sorted into Gryffindor, which was yours and your parents' old house, Harry. He has already made fast friends with half of his year-mates and many of the upper-years as well. He apparently discovered magical paint sometime between the Welcome Feast and this morning's breakfast, and he wore red and gold face paint to breakfast this morning. (I took the liberty of delivering to him the potion he'll need to clean it off - I'm not sure he was aware of its permanence at first, or if that was part of its allure.)_

_Alexander was sorted into Ravenclaw, no surprises there. He spent the Welcome Feast locked in an animated discussion of some sort with other Ravenclaw Muggleborns. He missed breakfast and Minerva said that he arrived to Transfiguration class a few minutes late alongside fellow first-year Robert Bones, claiming to have gotten lost. Minerva asked me specifically to tell you that, she said it may sound familiar._

_This is my owl, Steak. Please feel free to keep him for the day if you would like to send along some post to the boys. Don't worry about an address, he'll know how to find Hogwarts._

_Warm regards,  
_ _Remus_

* * *

 

**September 2nd, 2010**

_Remus,_

_Thanks for keeping an eye on the boys. Please watch Arthur and make sure he doesn’t set anything off with the upper-years. Enclosed a box for you and the professors (or just you if you’re clever enough not to open it in the staff room)._

_James & Monty _

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_Enclosing a box of your favorites. Write soon and tell us all about your first couple of days._

_Love,  
_ _Dad & Monty _

* * *

 

_Arty,_

_Sending a variety box for your Gryffindor year-mates. Bribe them wisely._

_Stay away from the upper-years for now, don’t get roped into anything._

_Write soon._

_Love,  
_ _Dad & Monty _

* * *

 

**September 7th, 2010**

_Dads - please send XL box of champagne chocos, need to settle a wager with the 7th years_

_love,  
_ _Ar_

* * *

 

**September 8th, 2010**

_Arthur Bugger Charming,_

_A week out, this is all we get? Will pull you back home if you don't write us proper! What are you wagering with 7th years about alcoholic chocolate for? Won't test your dad, he's been in a strop all week. That Hermione lass set him up with a Mind Healer appt, he's playing sick upstairs to get out of it. Write him proper and I'll send a SMALL box of champagne chocos._

_Love,  
_ _Monty_

_PS - Don't write home for money if you wager it all away!_

_PPS - Send home some profit if you win any so I can buy J something pretty._

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_Go smack your brother. Write soon, your dad's pathetic._

_Love,  
_ _Monty_

* * *

 

**September 9th, 2010**

_Dad & Monty, _

_School is brilliant but too much reading for homework. A 4th year girl knows a charm to get the words to read out loud but so far I can only make the books scream. Arty & I work on homework together most nights so it's not too bad. There's a bloke in my dorm named Robert, he likes Dr. Who and he wants to see all my inventions at home, do you think he can visit over the holidays? He lives in Glasglow and says his Aunt Susan went to school with Harry, do you remember her? _

_Can you send a fresh lot of pens quills are stupid_

_Love,  
_ _Al_

_PS - Dad, if you're really still "sick" then Monty will just have to put you in hospital. Won't that be fun?_

* * *

 

**September 10th, 2010**

_Arthur,_

_You're not to wager with 7th years, are you off your rocker? Mrs. Weasley told me about Howlers. Mark my words, if you get in a fight with 7th years, I'll have Monty send a Howler and there’s no telling what he’ll let slip. No champagne chocos, you're mad for even asking. I've hidden them from Monty too so don't go whinging to him._

_Made any non-wagering friends? How's the goblin? Is Al okay with the other cats around the school? Do you need your purple sketchbook or did you leave it behind on purpose? I've enclosed more charcoals, Professor Lupin said you found magic paint…? Write soon._

_Love,  
_ _Dad_

_PS - Maybe work on drawing a map? Prof L said McG said Al was getting lost. They should give first years maps, aren't you in a castle?_

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_Would love to have your friend Robert over for the holidays, anytime. I don't remember Susan Bones by name but Ron and Hermione said we were in the same year and she works for the Ministry now._

_Hermione said there's a "Reader" we can get at Diagon Alley that will do the charm for you. She said you just have to hold one end of it on the text and put the other piece over your ear. I'm picking it up tomorrow after the Mind Healer appointment, will send it your way next post. Try to stay on top of your homework best you can._

_George came by and told me to ask if either of you have blown up any toilets recently? Please say no. Is that a tradition or something? Don't partake._

_Love,  
_ _Dad_

_PS - Enclosed a box of Naga truffs, please forward to Lupin, I think he'll like them. Curry + coconut + deep milk choc._

* * *

 

**September 11th, 2010**

“Healer Malfoy, I’d like to re-introduce you to someone. This is James Charming.”

Hermione Granger-Weasley, ever the insufferable know-it-all, was also an efficient nag and brilliant conversationalist. Years ago, Draco looked in on her parents' long-term case as a side project during his last six months as a Mind Healer trainee. He nearly got himself chucked out of the program for snooping through patient files and butting his nose into the family troubles of an Order of Merlin recipient. But he submitted a viable treatment plan that utilized ancient charmwork and three new potions, one of which was his own creation. The unique combination successfully wore down the skilled Obliviation young Granger had inflicted on her parents during the war. He graduated with honors and became a shoe-in for an open position in the Janus Thickey Ward.

She came to Draco two weeks ago and pleaded with him to take a mysterious new case involving amnesia of unknown causes. She insisted that he would want to take this one despite her not being able to pass on any concrete details. Given their tentatively friendly and beneficial history (post-Hogwarts, at least), he trusted that the case would serve to further his career as an up-and-coming Mind Healer on the rapidly expanding frontier of his field.

And so he agreed to take the case without knowing anything else. And then her arsing Auror husband delivered a thick case file, marked CLASSIFIED in large official letters, and sent his world spiraling.

Harry Potter squinted at him suspiciously from one of the three guest chairs in Draco’s office. The look was almost identical to a million green-eyed glares Draco had received in Hogwarts. But it was an empty, vague suspicion. Draco hid his smirk. Potty had nothing on him now and, even better, he couldn’t even remember the days when Draco truly was up to no good. Granger claimed that he only had a tenebrous recollection of some “blond git,” and Draco took no small amount of pride in the fact that he had been remembered in the desolate landscape of Potter’s memories.

Charming. He had to call him Charming now. For as long as this legendary wizarding war hero preferred, he would be called Charming in this office instead of Potty. Potter. Draco would have to think of some new insults for him. Privately, of course; he was a professional, after all.

“Charmed,” Draco said in greeting, letting the smirk slip free. Charming looked heavenward in a very Potter-like fashion. Between Charming and Granger sat Montgomery Gibbs, the brawny Muggle man from the photo in the Daily Prophet. Gibbs gave a wide, happy grin. Probably because he was a wide, happy idiot. “What is it you’re looking to achieve in seeing a Mind Healer, Mr. Charming?”

The mild glare slipped into something more neutral. He shrugged one shoulder. Draco noticed how he began tapping his rubber-tipped, brightly painted cane on the soft rug. Nervous energy coming from an uncomfortable man with dark circles under his eyes. Except for the world-famous scar peeking out from under a ridiculous knit cap, Charming looked like a typical new patient in the St. Mungo's Mind Healing outpatient program.

“Have you been to a Mind Healer before today, magical or otherwise?”

Charming shook his head in the negative and silenced Gibbs with a quelling look when the man opened his mouth.

“Tell me about your habits,” he prompted. His fingers twitched to take notes but he resisted, thinking it wouldn’t be well received. “Sleeping, eating, working, going out, and the like. What has life been like since your reintroduction to magic last month?”

Charming signed stiffly, stopping and starting as he considered his answers. Gibbs translated: “The nightmares’re worse now, more detailed. Sleeping less fer that. Eating fine - the liar, he’s no’ - an’ work is the same. No point going out wae the boys off at school. Been a real layabout lately if ye ask me, a - ”

“I only need a translation, thank you, Mr. Gibbs,” Draco said as politely as he could. “If I require your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Though he took a mental note of his comment on Charming’s eating habits anyway.

“I only - ”

“You want to help, I understand,” he interrupted, barely sparing the man a glance. “You can assist with a direct translation. Mr. Charming, have you ever experienced flashbacks to your lost memories?”

Charming nodded, eyes flitting over to Gibbs, who was pouting much like Scorpius was prone to do when he was denied a sweet.

“And these flashbacks are more frequent now?”

Charming nodded again. Gibbs opened his stupid mouth.

“They’re worse,” he grunted. “Thought he’d keel right over after the train incident.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gibbs, but Mr. Charming is quite capable of elaborating if he wishes to do so.”

“But he won’ - ”

Hermione touched a hand to Gibbs’s elbow and he took the hint, though his face turned an ugly puce color. Draco wondered how much this rude oaf had in common with Ron Weasley and what that said about the Golden Trio’s true dynamics…

Wrenching his mind away from that disturbing train of thought, he went on: “Mr. Charming, you’ve experienced some sort of a violent incident which resulted in the traumatic loss of your memories and identity. You’ve recently been reintroduced to a whole new world, and your children are away from home for what I assume is the first time…?”

Charming nodded shortly to confirm, picking at the paint on his cane. Draco plowed ahead while commending himself for treating the _case_ and not the no-doubt-just-as-stubborn-and-annoying-as-ever _patient:_

“There are several goals we can pursue in our appointments, should you choose to continue. Auror Weasley has requested we look into your lost memory of the violent incident which took you from our world, is this something you’re interested in?”

Charming’s eyes widened and he went a little pale. Draco didn’t even need him to shake his head in the negative this time, his answer was already clear. _Not such a brave Gryffindor these days, are we?_

“Ms. Granger has suggested we try to recover lost memories of all sorts, both the banal and the dramatic. Is this something you’re interested in?”

Charming shrugged and Gibbs went on a great spluttering roll, apparently disagreeing.

“Thank you once again for your eloquent input, Mr. Gibbs. We’ll table that if you’re unsure, Mr. Charming, there’s no need to decide right away. Is there anything you would like to work on for your own purposes?” Draco took comfort in his old familiar Mind Healer script, even if he was using it on his old-school-enemy-turned-amnesiac-Muggle.

Charming considered his hands, which were still gripping his cane but no longer picking at the paint or tapping it against the floor. Gibbs was watching him expectantly and Granger was sending Draco some sort of meaningful look. Ugh, it was _gratitude_. Gross.

Charming signed and Gibbs looked surprised, even pleased, before he translated: "I want tae know how tae use a wand again."

The last thing Draco wanted to do was to put a wand back in this man's hands. He knew personally how much damage that could bring unto _him,_ the long-time enemy who would be poking around in Harry Potter's most traumatic and sensitive memories. He had the scars to prove how terrible that plan was, and yet…

He was a thrice-damned professional.

"There's a report in your file," he began, voice shaking but hand steady as he offered the thick folder over to Charming, "detailing the train incident. Would you say it's accurate?"

Charming grimaced, apparently not looking forward to the Auror report submitted by Weasley on September 1st. It was the type of incident report that was full of information but said nothing at all. A lot of names (four Aurors, five civilians), a lot of re-iteration of those names in a vague and unbiased description of the event (Charming snatched a wand that Auror Idiot had pointed at him and then he apparently used that wand to send Auror Moron into a wall), a lot of stamps and signatures at the bottom that signified Auror Weasel had done a fine job of tattling on his old friend.

Finally, after reading the report three times over, Charming tucked it back into the folder and nodded, sliding the file back across Draco's desk.

"The report claims that your son recognized you were experiencing a flashback, which provoked you to attack an Auror." Charming nodded again, glaring at the file. _Sweet Salazar, all this for a second-year spell. Wait until I get you to remember your attempted bathroom murder, Potty._ "Can you tell me what you experienced in that moment?"

With a sigh, Charming started signing and Gibbs spoke, albeit softly: "Thought a was under attack, people were chasing me. They caught up when a went down wae ma hip busted." Draco stopped breathing. This had to be _it,_ right? The Incident? There was no other report of a hip injury in Potter's long Ministry file. "They was arguin' about whether they'd kill me or..." Gibbs paused and Charming repeated the long series of small signs. "Obliv...obliviate?"

Charming nodded and Granger gasped loudly. Draco shook his head minutely at her. _Shut up, Granger, for the love of Merlin!_

"Someone was called 'dung'..." Charming's signs were slowing down now and his brow furrowed as he tried to recall every detail. "Whoever it was, they argued tae obliviate, no' kill. Someone else wanted tae kill me an' be done it. There were a lot of them, dunno how many." Gibbs was looking pale and sickly now as Charming wrapped up. "He says, a was hearin' a lot voices at once, no sure if it were the a-u-r...the Aurors or the others."

"You used a spell to push the Auror back, do you remember what it was?" Draco asked, struggling to keep the burning curiosity out of his voice.

Charming frowned.

"Did you think of an incantation?" Hermione clarified. "Possibly a Latin word?"

Charming started signing something slowly and Draco was interested to see his mouth following along with the signs, a silent pronunciation meant only for himself. Gibbs sounded it out as Charming spelled: "Exp...ell...iarmus, _expelliarmus?"_ Charming nodded, testing the word on his lips again.

"You're recalling how to say it," Draco observed. "You remember this spell?" A nod, but those eyes went back to studying the cane again. "How do you feel about this spell?"

Charming shrugged noncommittally and signed. "Says, a jus' wanted the man tae get back, a dinnae want tae hurt anyone."

"It's a standard disarming spell. If you put a little force into it, it can provide a decent propulsion of the target. Generally harmless but a good means of defense." _A_ very _good means of defense_ , Draco thought, recalling the Dark Lord's slightly pathetic demise. "You were somewhat known for it, actually. I'm not surprised it's ingrained in your reflexes. I suppose the Aurors still have your wand?" he addressed the question to Charming but directed it to Granger, who nodded. "They've no legal claim to it anymore. Get it back from them and practice a few simple spells. Review your old school books. See what comes back to you."

Draco leaned back in his chair, observing the stunned-looking man before him. Had he really thought it would be so difficult to step back into magic? Identity and memories were one thing, but waving a stick around and using second-year defense spells could hardly be considered an obstacle.

"When you come back for your next appointment, we can discuss your wand work." _Terrible phrasing,_ he scolded himself at the sight of Gibbs's quirking mouth _._ "Is there anything else you'd like to work on, Mr. Charming?" He waited while the question was considered. There was certainly plenty to unpack in the case of his long lost Gryffindor rival. He hardly knew where to begin.

Charming signed and Gibbs suddenly went watery in the eyes. When he spoke, it was choked and horrible and made Draco uncomfortable: "Ah...havin' a hard time wae the boys bein' gone. Ne'er been away from 'em. Can ye help wae that, doc?"

Gross.

But Potter - ugh, Charming, whatever - was a parent, and empty-nest syndrome was a powerful force. Besides, Draco wouldn't mind learning all the juicy details of how the Golden Boy had ended up a teenage father. And that was almost certain to come up if they pursued this goal.

"Yes, I believe we can work on that," Draco said, putting on his best soothing voice. Apparently he overdid it because Pott - _Charming_ was glaring at him again, looking unimpressed and sour. _Melodramatic wanker…_ He cleared his throat, feeling a bit stupid all of the sudden. "Hogwarts is a difficult transition for any parent, I assure you. I'm a parent myself, you know." _Why did I say that?_

"He's not been away from 'em ever," Gibbs insisted, sniffling horribly. Charming looked over at him with a weary (annoyed?) expression. "S'always been them three together. Ye have no idea what he's been through for those boys, ye jus' have no - "

Draco was about to cut off the blubbering idiot when Charming himself elbowed him into silence.

"Have you had a physical examination yet?" Draco asked blandly. Charming shook his head and furrowed his brow in a question. "I'd like that to happen today. If you're amenable, we might be able to do something for your hip and your voice."

Gibbs bristled.

"There's nothing wrong wae him, he - "

" _If you're amenable_ , Mr. Charming," Draco repeated loudly and pointedly. "At the very least, you'll hobble out of the examination with Healer's orders to eat something other than chocolate." And wasn't that the crux of this mess, the fire behind Draco's foul mood this week, that the brilliance behind Charming Chocolates came down to _Potter_.

Charming nodded once.

"Then I'll send you over to Healer Abbott for your physical. She's just down the hall, Room 104. She'll be expecting you." Draco stood and, after a moment of hesitation, extended his hand. Charming shook it firmly before taking up his cane again. "Good day."

* * *

 

**September 15th, 2010**

_Fire - hot - the scent of burning flesh hits his nostrils - smoke is filling his lungs, choking him - screams are ringing in his ears and he's never been more desperate for anything in his life - he needs this to end, to smother, to drown but still the fire rages on - so hot - they're supposed to be flying but the broom caught - trapped - put it out - oh Merlin put it out! - he's dying! - screaming! - water - water! - WATER!_

"A'M NO THE STRONGEST SWIMMER, JAMES!"

James soared into a sitting position, the air feeling impossibly cold and wet compared to the hot dry heat of his dream - nightmare - memory?

Their bedroom was dim, Monty's lamp was flickering violently, and the bed was drenched in wet. For a moment, James thought one of the boys had snuck into bed after a bad dream and had an accident overnight, but that tradition had petered out years ago. So why was everything wet?

Oh god, had _he_ pissed the bed?

"TURN IT OFF!" Monty roared.

James looked around wildly, ears tuning into a loud hissing, spraying sound, like a firehose gushing. In the dim, flickering light, a heavy jet of water hit his face and he jerked back, flailing, feeling something on his palm -

The wand!

His wand was in his hand, spewing water madly, like a broken fire hydrant. _Stop stop stop!_ He threw the wand at the wall and the gushing sound broke off suddenly, as soon as the stick left his hand.

_Splunk!_

Trembling, blinking away the images and smells his dream, James crawled to the foot of the sopping bed and peeked over the edge. His jaw dropped. Several inches of water had built up on the floor. The wand had sunk below its surface, ripples showing where it had landed. The legs of their reclaimed dresser were only half-visible, the rug had disappeared entirely, and Monty was breathing like a winded hippogriff.

Like a bull. Or rhino or horse or something. What was a hippogriff?

The lamp flickered again and then stayed on, steady, revealing the full devastation of their room. The water was beginning to recede, escaping through the cracks in the door and floorboards. Fuck. This was going to cost a _fortune._ And just how the hell would they explain spontaneous flooding to a repair company?

"What was that?!" Monty shrieked, staring at the disaster James had caused.

 **_Fire_** , he answered stupidly, helplessly, tears springing to his eyes.

"Wha' fire?!"

James shook his head and smashed a finger against his temple again and again and again. His face began to crumple and he pulled his hair in frustration, curling up at the foot of the bed.

"Ah no, James," Monty said softly, crawling over to wrap him up in his muscular arms. He was warm. Pleasantly so in the cold, wet bedding. Not too hot. Not like the fire. James felt more tears leak out. The smell… He had never smelled anything like it before, burning flesh -

His chest went tight. He _had_ smelled that before. He couldn't smell anything in regular dreams, this was real, or close enough to it. At some point in his life, he had smelled a real person burning up, had heard a real person screaming for their life before going silent…

He was shaking all over and Monty huffed a little laugh, not sounding particularly mirthful.

"Stop it, now," he murmured into James's hair. "S'alright, ma little fish... Jus' a bit of water, cannae do _us_ any harm, jus' the floor...s'ugly anyway..."

_You don't understand, you don't get it! I couldn't stop it!_

James couldn't bring himself to do anything. He had done enough. He sat uselessly in his soaked clothes in their sopping bed in their flooded bedroom and waited for Monty to do something.

To his eternal shame, Monty called Ron and Hermione.

Harry Potter's friends spoke to Monty through the phone while James shivered on the sofa in his wet joggers and t-shirt, feeling too much like a little boy who had wet the bed. Within minutes, Hermione was knocking quietly on their front door and Monty was leading her up the stairs. James heard them laughing softly on the stairs. He knew he should feel annoyed. This wasn't funny.

An hour later, Hermione joined him in the sitting room and accepted a cup of tea from Monty, who sat next to James. He felt a mug of tea pressed into his own hands and he simply set it on the coffee table in front of him. Monty wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"S'alright, tuna," he said warmly, squeezing him tight. Smiling.

James shook his head, staring hard at the rejected mug.

"You should keep your wand in a drawer or something instead of on the bedside table," Hermione suggested lightly, offering the wand back. James didn't take it and she placed it on the table. "Keep it somewhere close by, of course, but where you can't reach it while you're dreaming. Plenty of witches and wizards have found themselves sleepwalking with their wands..." She rattled off some story about a witch who wandered into a Muggle circus in the dead of night and released all of the animals, only to wake up the next morning without a clue.

James idly wondered how long it would be before people told stories of a mad wizard who burned down his family's home, locked in a nightmare he couldn't distinguish from reality.

Hermione and Monty chatted happily as they finished their tea. Then Hermione went back home and Monty dragged James back to bed.

The holly wand remained untouched on the coffee table, alongside his tea.

 


	4. Huaghh!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features signing, character flaws, vomiting, swearing, backstories, themed chocolate, Quidditch, and James starting some trouble in a new but also not so new way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a graceful way to insert the traditional detailed-description-of-Draco's-hair, so I took care of that problem. Also October 21st 2010 is when I started dating my then-boyfriend (who later became my husband on that same date in 2017). So including that date is just a little shout out to us.

**September 19th, 2010**

Draco could have kissed Abbott. Not literally, of course, because girls were icky.

He positioned his wand to hover a little farther away from his eyes this time and studied the book for another phrase. Slowly, with clumsy, awkward movements, he signed through the phrase. Next to his head, his floating wand twitched in the air, using gold smoke to spell out the words in English:

**_Where is the bathroom?_ **

Abbott was a genius and Draco was already making plans to send his tainted Charming Chocolates supply to her in thanks. Because he obviously wouldn't be partaking of those anymore. They were tainted by Potter's influence. There was a conflict of interest, or something. Healer-patient-sweet confidentiality. He didn't even like them that much anyway.

It was a rather large supply, hidden away in his desk. Perhaps he had better gift it to her in small portions, over time. To help keep her figure in check. Right. Not much of a thank you if it went straight to her thighs. He would hold onto the rest in the meantime.

That morning, Draco had been complaining loudly (professionally) in the lounge while he played a rousing game of chess (which he eventually declared a draw after Mr. Longbottom cunningly neglected to respond to his opening move). The Muggle Moron was making it impossible to communicate adequately with his newest patient, always inserting his own opinions and whinging about this or that when he was only needed as a translator.

Then Abbott - sweet, beautiful, icky-girl Abbott - had just casually mentioned a handy little translation spell that her own Deaf father used for those outside of the Abbott family. That glorious Abbott family that was the answer to all of Draco's problems (pertaining to the communication hurdles in this particular case, at least). She gave Draco a book, The Magical Guide to Learning BSL, by WhoCares SomeWitch, which included moving illustrations for each letter, word, and phrase, and an incredible index system. If he ever wanted to learn sign language, he would certainly start there.

As it was, he only needed it in order to test the spell with a few words and phrases. And it worked! And he owed Abbott a heap of chocolate!

Or something.

He quilled a note to schedule a new appointment with Charming and explained the new spell. He spent three whole minutes trying to work out a polite way to say, "Leave your Muggle at home," before he finally sent it off unrevised and packed up for the day. He had an afternoon appointment. Six-year-old Scorpius had a new watch and was not the forgiving type if Draco was late to pretend-tea.

* * *

 

 ** _What did I do wrong?_** Monty asked, leaning back against the counter and watching his boyfriend tend to dinner-for-two.

 **_Nothing_** , James replied. He placed the wooden spoon carefully on the spoon-rest that was shaped like a cartoon owl. James had picked it up at an odds-and-ends store years ago, no doubt hearing Harry the Wizard in his head prattling on about owls.

 **_Obviously something_** , he pressed. **_You do not want me there anymore._ **

**_Doctor says a human translator is not necessary_** , James explained in that slow and careful way he had when he was trying to avoid an explosion from the boys. Or Monty. Not that Monty exploded, of course. It wasn't that James was delicate...but loud, angry arguments weren't right for him. So Monty tried his damndest to avoid them, even when the stubborn arse was pushing for one.

 ** _Magic?_** He asked. James nodded.

Magic. Always an answer for everything. Except for the James Charming conundrum, of course. Dr. Abbott had concluded, at the end of the physical, that there was nothing to be done for his lost voice and little to be done for his damaged hip. James had accepted the one month supply of potions, despite Monty warning him to look into the risks of painkiller addiction. James was a sharp bird, he just didn't have any common sense. Magical painkillers were likely just as addictive and dangerous as the normal stuff. And bone-strengthening draughts? Sounded like milk, if someone bothered to ask Monty. But no one ever did. Because Monty's opinions didn't matter now that magic was back in James's life.

 ** _Did they train a little bird to sing what you sign?_** he asked, lip curling.

James glared at him and the skillet started sizzling in a nasty way. Monty gestured at their burning dinner, not really in the mood to wait for takeaway food to arrive. James turned down the heat and scraped the spoon across the skillet to break up the rapid cooking before setting spoon back down more forcefully than necessary.

 **_My appointment_** , James signed, emphasizing the _my_ and looking at him in that challenging way that told Monty he was now itching for a fight. _Not today, birdie._

James simply needed to remember how good things could be when he let Monty take care of him a bit. He was going through a rough patch with the boys gone, there was no shame in that. Sleeping all the time, hardly eating, opening the shop late. He hadn't cleaned upstairs since August, hadn't put together a new variety box since July. Monty made dinner nearly every night, he took care of the mail-orders in his spare time, he even cleaned upstairs where the health inspector wouldn't look. Without a word of complaint. He was _happy_ to do it. James needed it. James needed him, despite what he claimed, and now Monty was being chucked out of these appointments.

 **_I want to help_** , he said, summoning patience from the depths of his soul.

 **_I want to do this myself_** , James replied curtly.

**_Why?_ **

**_Why not?_ **

**_No._** Monty bit down on his tongue. He wasn't going to play that game. **_You do not want me there. Tell me why._**

James threw his hands up in frustration. **_Not you_** , he said. _**W**_ ** _ant to do this myself._ **

**_WHY?!_ **

**_MY head, MY memories, MY thoughts_** , he said, hitting himself on the chest with each _my_. _**N**_ ** _eed to do this without you speaking for me._ **

Monty paused, furrowing his brow. **_Translating for you,_ ** he said. **_All my life I have translated for the people I love._ **

James waved his hands dismissively and started signing a response, but Monty looked away. He couldn't talk to James when he got like this, all wrapped up in his issues and his independence and his fucking pride, completely unwilling to give anyone a chance. This was why he hated fighting with him, it was nearly impossible to win and it only served to upset them both! When he finally looked forward again, James was back to signing slowly and gently.

 **_I know you are a good translator_**.

Monty scoffed. It wasn't a competition, their respective signing skills, but he had been raised by Deaf parents. Before meeting Monty, James had only known what Aarti and some books could teach him. Monty had opened a whole new world for him once James had let him _help_.

 **_I am better than a spell_** , he finally said, wondering in the back of his mind if that was even true. It had to be. He was human, he had a soul, he loved James. Of course he would do what was right by him. A bloody spell - it couldn't understand James like Monty could, it would get him all wrong!

 **_The doctor wants to communicate with me directly_** , James went on carefully.

 **_No_** , Monty countered, growling slightly. **_Your decision. Do not blame the doctor. You are choosing this._ **

**_Yes_** , James nodded rapidly with wide eyes. **_If direct communication is possible, yes. Better._ **

Better. The word winded Monty. He was better for James than some ruddy spell. He could help the doctor to understand James better than a magic wand could do. But James didn't trust him, even after all these years. After seven years, countless hours in each other's company, a hundred romantic and nutritious picnics for all three Charmings, new habits and rituals formed and broken and formed again around their excruciatingly slow-built relationship, James still fought tooth and nail whenever Monty offered his help.

He took a breath, feeling as if he stood on the edge of a cliff. His hands started signing, almost automatically.

 **_I make your life better_** **,** he said.

 **_Yes_**. James's face softened but Monty wasn't finished. This was going to hurt. But it had to be said and done with. He was going to tear it all down and build it up right this time.

 ** _I make your life better. When we met, you were starving._** James reared back as if he'd been slapped. But Monty wasn't finished. **_Your boys could have been taken from you._**

 **_They were fine_** , James said, glaring daggers at him now. **_Never hungry, never._ **

**_You_** , Monty insisted. **_You were starving. If you continued, hospital. Boys sent away. Inevitable. I helped you. My picnics helped you through that summer and fall._ **

**_You were trying to have sex with me_** , James scoffed.

 ** _I help people!_** he insisted. **_I wanted love but you wanted friendship. So we were friends. I helped you because I help people. Not because I wanted to have sex with you._**

 ** _Never stopped asking_** , James said, grimacing.

**_You never complained._ **

**_I did not want to risk -_ ** James hesitated, unsure how to continue.

 ** _Wanted my help_** , Monty asserted, feeling slightly sick at the insinuation that he had pressured a starving man into a relationship. But that wasn't how it happened and they both knew it. He got James better first, that was always the priority. Those comments and flirtations weren't serious. That was just Monty being Monty. His main concern was to help James, and when James was better, he came to his senses and saw what Monty had to offer beyond food and groceries.

 ** _Wanted a friend_** , James said, twisting his mouth in an ugly, self-loathing way. **_Did not want to lose you because you were my friend._ **

**_Did not lose me,_** he went on, pushing down all the complicated feelings that came along with the years of rejection that James had subjected him to. _**A**_ ** _te my food. I helped you and you were better._**

 **_A saint_** , James said stiffly. But Monty wasn't finished.

 ** _I taught you to sign._** James started to object and Monty barreled ahead. **_A-A-R-T-I learned at university. Did not sign often._**

 **_You did not know her_** , argued James, clenching his jaw. Aarti was dangerous territory, but it had to be said.

 **_She taught you the basics_** , he said. _**H**_ ** _elped you start your life and your signing. I helped you make it better._ **

**_Stop._ **

**_Last year I wanted to find your family_** , Monty persisted. **_You did not let me help you. Are you happy to know them now?_** He didn't give him a chance to answer, knowing James would just overcomplicate it with more imaginary nonsense. _**I wish you**_ ** _let me help you then. Things could be better. Let me help you now._**

 ** _Stop._** James was getting twitchy, but Monty kept on, hoping he would see reason.

 **_You do not express yourself_** , he said. The food was burning again, even on the low heat. **_Hide your thoughts, self-destruct._ **

**_Doctor will help me._** His hands were shaking.

 **_He cannot help you if you lie_** , he signed. **_I know you. You can try to lie but I know better. That is all I want to do in your appointments. Want to help the doctor help you._ **

James closed his eyes and took a great, shuddering, dramatic breath. Monty's stomach hurt; he caused this. He was trying to make things stronger between them. If James could only accept how much Monty had already done for him, if he could put aside his pride... But James was pale and dinner was thoroughly burned and Monty was still waiting for an answer. He was finished.

 **_I do not want you there_** , James said simply, face clinically blank. **_Do not need you._ **

Monty's breath left him at the phrasing. 'Do not need you _there,_ ' was what he meant, surely. Signing was often short and blunt. James just phrased it poorly. Another reason why this translation spell would be a disaster for James, his lovebird just didn't understand -

 **_Not hungry_**. James scraped the ruined dinner into the bin and turned his back on Monty to wash the pan in the industrial sink. Monty sighed. _Looks like takeaway after all._ James limped out of the room, leaving his cane behind.

That was alright. Monty would take it to him later, after he cooled off. He knew better than to get the man worked up in an argument, after all.

* * *

 

**September 21st, 2010**

James tore off the itchy knit cap, shoving it into his jacket pocket. He missed his old hat and wondered who had it now. Whoever snatched it off his head was a right cunt.

“Anymore 'magic nonsense' you’d like to discuss since last time?”

 **_No_** , he signed, testing out the new spell. His own holly wand spelled out the word next to his head in gold smoke. In his opinion, the wand thoroughly deserved to be banished to a dark corner in his flat, but instead it was on a grand tour for the sake of these appointments. He kept it in his back pocket while traveling (he had written a whole three pages to the boys to tell them about the Knight Bus), only pulling it out once he had settled into the appointment with Healer Malfoy. He dreaded to think of what would inevitably happen when he was faced with another flashback while carting around a magic-conductor, but after the row with Monty, he wasn’t going to give in and bring him along to translate.

“Have you used your wand since the nighttime incident last week?”

James cringed. The Nighttime Incident. He hadn’t actually wet the bed, couldn’t they call it something else?

**_Called the bus._ **

They had spent the last two meetings working to improve his habits and to cope with his current...depression, was the word Malfoy had used. He wasn’t depressed. He was just in a funk.

“I thought we would talk today about your history as a parent,” Malfoy said, clearing his throat. “Would you care to start at the beginning? It’s good to lay it out as a narrative.”

Healer Malfoy was so similar to and so different from the boy in James’s memories, the sneering blond git. James recalled Hermione slapping Malfoy once, though he couldn’t remember why. He probably deserved it. He was always saying shit things in James’s memories. Or seeming to. He couldn’t quite recall the specifics, but nobody sneered like that when dishing out pleasantries.

These days, however, that pale, pointed face was perfectly polite, and even nicer to look at. Sharp grey eyes tuned to James’s face (or the smoke coming out of his possessed wand). Long fingers folded precisely together atop a rich mahogany desk. Back straight as an arrow, making James feel a bit like a slob and a bit like a rebel as he slouched in the blue-upholstered guest chair. James knew without a doubt that if it were fifteen years ago, they wouldn’t sit calmly, albeit awkwardly, on either side of a polished desk. They’d go for each other’s throats.

He just couldn’t remember why.

Except that he was a git. He knew that much. He decided to watch him, closely. Eventually he would remember why Hermione had been driven to slap him. And also he would work on his habits and cope with his current...funk.

 **_I was nearly 19_** , he began. Of course, back then his exact age had been an approximation. They said he was eighteen when he woke up in hospital, back strapped to a board, leg in traction, hip reduced to grit. They estimated he was thereabouts anyway and the paperwork was easier if he was of age. July 1st became his new birthday.

“When they were born or conceived?”

 **_Born_**.

“Can you tell me about their mother?”

 **_A-A-R-T-I  P-A-T-E-L_** **.**

Monty was right, Aarti helped to get him started in his new life. She was exactly what he needed at the time. Intensely focused and outspoken, just a little bit scary; if she had ever claimed she killed a man, he would have believed her. She had little patience for his superficial tantrums and moods, but all the patience in the world to talk him through his darkest moments. She would have made an incredible partner to raise kids with, even if they hadn’t been so sure about marriage.

 ** _She taught yoga at the physical rehabilitation center. We met in August. Conceived in September._** He paused, waiting for the inevitable joke. A smirk touched Malfoy’s lips and there was a mischievous, knowing glint in his eye, nothing more. Everyone had the same vision at this part of the story: a yoga instructor helped him through physical therapy so effectively that he got her up the duff within a month. Nevermind that she did all the work during their extra curricular activities.

“A surprise, then?”

 **_Obviously_**.

He was eighteen, crippled, and living in a homeless shelter; he had no family, no job, and a spotty education at best. She was twenty-one, a recent university drop-out, making a miniscule salary that wasn’t even enough to support herself, begging her parents to fill in the gaps. And her family had helped when they could, until she revealed the pregnancy in December.

 ** _Her family disowned her when we told them._** Malfoy blinked but said nothing. **_New Year, I was walking. Worked at a grocery store. She fainted sometimes. Problems with blood pressure. I moved in with her to help. Slept on the sofa._**

James wasn’t sure why he added that last part but it seemed important for some reason. He and Aarti had been more focused on the pregnancy, on paying the heating bill, than on their relationship. They hadn’t ruled anything out for the future; they still pursued _extra curricular activities_ on occasion, and they grew closer every day, but it seemed a frivolous waste of energy to pursue a relationship at the time. And then it all went to shit and Aarti wasn’t granted a future.

“What was that time of your life like?” Malfoy prompted.

**_Work, travel, sleep. Grocery store nearby. Walked to and from every day._ **

“Was that a challenging commute? Given your condition?”

Malfoy’s eyes darted down to James’s hip, though from their positions it looked more like he was eyeing his groin. He shifted, nodding, then continued:

 ** _Made me stronger_**. The ultimate rehab. Once he was on his feet again, he never stopped.

“Healer Abbott reports that your hip took damage reminiscent of a blasting curse,” Malfoy said clinically, rifling randomly through the scrolls of parchment on his desk. James blinked. Weren’t they supposed to be talking about parenthood? “I specialize in Mind Healing, but I have a background in the physical as well. Any Healer will tell you that if you push yourself too quickly during rehab, you'll do more harm than good. We can regrow bones but there’s only so much magic can do for the muscles and ligaments.”

 **_Already permanently damaged_** , James retorted, annoyed. What other choice did he have at the time? He couldn’t afford bus-fare every day, there was no underground nearby, and cabs were out of the question even if they would come to their neighborhood. **_Needed to work. Needed to walk._ **

“Right,” Malfoy coughed, looking uncomfortable. “I only meant it as an explanation for - nevermind. You walked and worked and slept on the couch. And Ms. Patel became more and more pregnant…?”

James nodded, glad to be back on a topic that wasn’t about his mistakes. Well, not entirely.

 **_When the doctor told us two babies, we cried,_ ** he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

He wasn’t ashamed of his boys and he didn’t resent them, but he couldn’t deny how much it felt like he and Aarti were being sentenced to increasingly hotter circles of hell. _Congratulations, you’re pregnant._ Then, _How lucky, it’s twins!_ Then, _This may be a challenging delivery but we’ll be with you every step of the way._ And finally, _We did all we could. Do you need us to call anyone for you?_

 **_Could not decide names_** , he went on, striving for a lighter topic. **_She wanted twin names. I wanted them to be separate._ **

“You went with the alliteration route,” Malfoy said, smirking in a not unfriendly way. "How charmingly original." _Will he never tire of that pun?_ But James nodded anyway, smiling.

 **_She liked Alexander but could not think of another name to match_** , he explained. **_I thought of Arthur later, when we arrived at the hospital to deliver._ ** Something about that hospital had screamed the name Arthur to him. And he could call him Arty, like a little Aarti Junior. It was perfect.

“And she approved?” James felt his stomach bottom out.

 **_Never told her_** , he said, praying his hands would remain steady. **_Everything went wrong very fast._ **

Apparently there was no response for that, even from a trained Mind Healer. Malfoy blinked rapidly, swallowed once, twice, three times. He was exceedingly uncomfortable and James didn’t know how to fix it.

 **_Sorry_** , he signed, not knowing what else to say. Malfoy looked perplexed now.

“We’re here to talk about things like this,” he said distantly. James nodded. It still felt as if he had crossed a line. “Was it her blood pressure?” He nodded again. “What happened after that?”

 ** _Doctors called her family_** , he said. _**They**_ ** _would not claim her body. I could not afford a funeral._** He stopped, feeling sick. Eleven years later, over a decade of reminding himself that he had had no other options, and he still felt like the scum of the earth. **_I left her there._** He couldn’t look up. He pulled and picked at the knit cap on his lap, working on a frayed edge.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy murmured. James peeked up and saw a complicated expression on his pale, pointed face. He wondered briefly how strange this was for Malfoy, to have such a conversation with his old school rival that he very much remembered. “I’m sorry,” he said again, giving his head a quick shake as if to dislodge something.

 ** _I could not get the boys home_** , James's hands blurted out, the memory coming back to him. He hadn’t thought about that day in so long, he had nearly forgotten… **_Two baby carriers. S-L-I-N-G. Carry one each. But I was alone._** He felt a wild bubble of laughter in his chest at the ridiculous problem that faced him at the end of a hellish 48 hours, a problem that had nearly undone him. How to get the infants home?

“So what did you do?” Malfoy asked, sounding as surprised and bewildered as James had felt in that moment all those years ago.

 **_Cried_** , he recalled. **_Nurse tried to give them to me. I could not figure out how to hold both at once. I gave them back. Cried in the stairwell. Thought about leaving them there._ **

“You…” He blinked rapidly again. “You thought about...about abandoning them? _You?!_ ”

 **_Thought they would be better anywhere else_** , he answered, not feeling as much shame as he thought he would have upon remembering this moment. **_I could not get them home. How to work, pay bills? Feed them? Keep them safe? Could not get them home._ **

“What changed your mind?”

 **_Went back inside to see them. Knew I could not leave them behind. Loved them._ ** James ducked his head down and swiped at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. **_Loved them so much right away. Did not feel anything when Aarti died._ ** He paused, considering what those two days in hospital had been like. **_Shock. Panic. Nothing else. But I loved them. Wanted to feel love, not nothing._ **

Malfoy let the statement hang in the air - literally, as the gold smoke lingered for some time. He cleared his throat and moved to take a sip from his tall glass of water, only to send it careening off the edge of the desk and crashing to the wood floor.

 _“Reparo!"_ he barked, glaring down at the mess in offense. James took advantage of the interruption to clear the lump in his throat. “Would you like something to drink?” Malfoy asked suddenly, loudly, before levitating a hospitality tray over to the desk. He went to pour another glass but James jumped up to do it himself. He needed to do something. “Help yourself…” he muttered, pulling his hands back and holding them in the air, as if unsure what to do with them. James sent a false sneer over the desk before settling back into his chair with his glass. “So. You obviously kept the brats.” James squinted in a mock glare to accompany his false sneer. “How’d you get them home? You must tell me after all this build-up. It’s like a locked-room mystery, I can’t figure it out!”

James held his glass of water between his thighs while he signed cheekily:

**_Murder mysteries are easy to solve when magic is involved. A-P-P-A-R-A-T-E in. Bang. Dead. A-P-P out._ **

Malfoy snorted. “ _You_ were a murder mystery and that still hasn’t been solved.”

James huffed a surprised laugh.

 ** _Nurse carried one after her shift_** , he relented, taking pity on Malfoy’s curiosity. **_She paid for a cab. Said a cab was cleaner than the bus. Said do not take newborns on the bus._** Except James had never been able to settle on an exact cut-off age for what was considered a “newborn” and had refused to take the boys on a bus for several years after that.

“What a heartless bitch," Malfoy declared, prompting another surprised laugh from James. "Tell me about those first few months with the little goblins,” he prompted, his own lips twitching at the corners.

James settled in for what was turning out to be their longest appointment yet. He told Malfoy about hiding in his and Aarti’s flat like a hermit for a few weeks, paralyzed with fear, nearly forfeiting his job at the grocery. About learning how to strap both slings to him at once in order to safely carry both squalling demons to buy supplies at Tesco. About pawning off Aarti’s clothes in an act of desperation, earning enough to pay a girl in their building to watch the boys after school so James could get back to work. About the simultaneous relief and anxiety he felt when he left the boys with her every day.

That conversation led right into the boys going off to Hogwarts, this time leaving James at home with the Muggle nanny. James steered the conversation away from Monty, not wanting to give into the temptation to complain. Malfoy, as painfully professional as he tried to be, seemed to have it in for Monty. Whether it was because Monty was a Muggle - maybe that’s why Hermione had slapped him? James thought he might slap him too if that was the case - or because he never stopped trying to _help_ , James didn’t know. But he knew he had no business discussing his issues with Monty in this space.

Malfoy shared his own experiences as a parent. He had a six-year-old boy, Scorpius, and did not appreciate James’s barrage of comments on that ridiculous name. Malfoy and Astoria ( ** _D-R-A-C-O. A-S-T-O-R-I-A. Explains S-C-O-R-_ ** James had managed before Malfoy threatened to blast his other hip) split up amicably after the birth, leaving Scorpius to be raised by Malfoy and his mother. When Malfoy eventually returned to work, he reported, he was a wreck. Flooing in to check up on the baby upwards of twenty times a day, extending his lunch hour to spend more time at home staring into the crib and forgetting to eat, finding any excuse to beg off early.

James laughed outright at the story of Malfoy blackmailing his friend Blaise into taking Polyjuice Potion to impersonate him so that he could skip a four-hour budget meeting. He had treated himself and Scorpius to a mid-day field trip.

**_You took a newborn baby to a Q-U-I-D-D-I-T-C-H game?_ **

“Oh no, this was last week,” Malfoy admitted proudly, sending James into another round of snorts and giggles. “You should try it actually. Quite refreshing.”

 ** _Doctor’s orders?_** James asked sarcastically.

“Quidditch can heal just about anything." James would give him that one. He felt on top of the world when he flew. He wondered how a professional Quidditch game would compare to football on the telly…

 **_I will ask G-I-N-N-Y W for tickets_** , he decided. He wouldn’t use Polyjuice to help his kids skive classes, but he could bring Monty. To smooth things over. Everyone loved Quidditch.

* * *

 

**October 1st, 2010**

In hindsight, Draco saw the signs. At the time, however, he was distracted by Charming's letter.

_Healer Malfoy,_

_Ginny got us box seats at the Harpies v. Puddlemere game tomorrow. Press can't get close and we can fill the whole box! Do you and Scorpius and your mother want to go? You mentioned Puddlemere before, do you like them? Ron says they've got nothing on the Chudley Cannons but he's always whinging about the Cannons losing by several hundred points so I smell a hint of blind favoritism. And also I don't think we're supposed to let the press see us rooting for Pudd when Ginny's a Harpie._

_I've enclosed the new variety box I've been working on this week, let me know what you think. Going for a Central American combination. Have you had chili chocolate? Give it a fair chance before you hex me._

_James_

What with the bumbling social invitation, the inadvertently calling Girl Weasel a harpy, and finally the audacious gift of an original Charming Chocolates Variety Box, Draco was quite thoroughly distracted. And so he saw the signs, but paid them no mind.

He saw that the hem of Blaise's robes was lopsided; spotted the crooked seam in the lining of his designer cravat. He noticed Blaise making more eye contact than usual, leaning a touch too far into Draco's personal space. He even caught the slip in Blaise's speech, the wide pronunciation of Charming that was more reminiscent of the working class than the esteemed, affable, and aloof Zabini family.

But instead of seeing the whole picture, the esteemed, affable, and distracted Healer Malfoy picked it apart and went for the cheap shots:

"Did your blind house elf dress you this morning or are you following Potter's new vagabond trend?"

"I'm pleased the Amortentia I bathed in this morning is having such a subtle effect on you."

"You can't blame Granger's accent for that one, no matter how close your offices are to one another."

Draco was only half paying attention during their customary afternoon tea break. Blaise had come over to St. Mungo's from the Department of Mysteries, as usual, and invited himself into Draco's office, as usual, and proceeded to help himself to the Central America-inspired chocolates, which was _as usual_ but not at all _acceptable_.

"Bugger off, creton!" Draco snapped, rescuing his new box from those greedy hands.

"Never in a sharing mood, are you, my dearest hoarding Dragon?" Blaise's slightly bemused and mostly amused expression was perfectly executed. What a fine actor.

"I'll have you know this box is an original Charming Chocolates Variety, still in the _testing_ phase," Draco cooed, his fingers hovering over the shining truffles and squares within. "My opinion has been sought out specifically."

"And how did you end up as a test subject?" There was an excited edge to his scoff.

Draco handed over the damn letter.

It was against all sorts of protocols, if one wanted to find a reason to pin this on poor Draco. And many would. The Aurors viewing the pensieve memory all pointed to this moment and screamed like banshees. Because by handing over the letter, he was essentially telling Blaise that James Charming, of Charming Chocolates, was his newest patient.

From there all it took to figure it out would be a series of damning questions:

_Why is a Muggle chocolatier seeing a Mind Healer who specializes in lost memories?_

_How does he know the Weasleys?_

_Why would the press be eager to see him rooting one way or another?_

_Why is he reaching out to Draco for a social occasion?_ (Perhaps they wouldn't ask that one, but Draco was certainly curious.)

Potter's highly publicized return to the wizarding world was still shrouded in mystery, but that shroud was being pulled back little by little. The public knew nothing of his amnesia and little of his injuries; they knew his children went to Hogwarts and, thanks to some blabbermouth students, they knew his children went by the name Charming. A farce of a name and oh so easily traced back to a reasonably popular chocolate shop in Scotland.

Handing over the letter meant the link could be made by anyone, even a Hufflepuff. Charming trusted Draco to keep their twice-weekly one-on-one arrangement confidential (there had to be a better way of phrasing that), and Draco just _handed_ it over to a snake in the grass for the sake of protecting his chocolate. Despite all the signs.

Draco couldn't ignore the click of the door locking or the whoosh of an unfamiliar ward filling the room and snuffing out the fire. His hand automatically dipped to his wand, his mouth opening to warn Blaise that something was wrong, but it was too late. He was bound to his office chair - the slightly gawdy brocade swivel chair that his mother had acquired from a specialty shop in Historic Alley. His wand slipped from his hand and into Blaise's own poorly tailored robe pocket.

The box of chocolates hit the rug and upended, sending truffles to a lint-y demise. Draco made a small cry of offense before the severity of the situation caught up to him. (Upon later viewing his recovered memory in the official DMLE pensieve, this was the moment that Robards would look at him with impatient, judgmental eyes, and Draco would raise his chin in defiance. He was entitled to mourn his chocolate, Auror priorities be damned.)

"I don't want to hurt you, Draco," Blaise said, his voice dropping into a lower register.

He stood beside the antique chair, within arm's reach, with his wand aimed at Draco's head. It wasn't Blaise's wand. Draco was becoming less distracted with each passing second. The letter didn't seem so important suddenly...until Blaise picked it up again.

"Just answer some questions and I'll get out of your hair," he said, swiping the cheap Muggle stationary through Draco's carefully coiffed locks. "True or false - " The imperious way it was said, Draco was suddenly thrown back to playing Truth or Dare in the Slytherin dorms. " - James Charming, of Charming Chocolates, is actually Harry Potter in disguise?"

In the memory, Draco kept his mouth shut like a properly defiant captive. In the pensieve, Draco smirked heroically over at Aurors Robards and Weasley.

_"Calvario!"_

Draco's carefully coiffed locks slipped smoothly from his head to the floor, leaving him bald and looking like the merfolk of Black Lake. And cold. What he wouldn't give for Charming's warm knit cap at that moment.

"You bastard!" he hissed, chest heaving as he took in the sight of his murdered tresses. Could a hair growth potion work against that particular curse? There were so many factors to consider when using those potions, and they never managed to regrow anything quite the same as it was. He would be ruined. He would never hear the end of it from the real Blaise!

"True or false?"

"False!" he screeched. Technically it was false. Potter wasn't _in_ _disguise_ as Charming. That would require some sort of mission or Ministry-sanctioned coverup. He was just a confused idiot.

"You're lying. _Slugulus erecto!"_

In the memory, Draco started barfing slugs. In the pensieve, Auror Weasel laughed himself sick and had to be excused.

"S-s-st _ahhh_ \- " A particularly meaty slug slipped up his throat and out his mouth, the trail of slime clinging to his uvula and making him gag. "Stop!"

"Tell me the truth!"

"The truth!"

"Yes!"

"Yes!" Oh Merlin, this was the part when he got the brilliant idea to mimic the git. Something about the schoolyard curses made him respond to the torture like an actual schoolboy.

"Draco, I'm serious!"

"Hi serious, I'm - _huaghh!"_ A puddle of maggot-sized slugs bubbled up and cascaded down his smart green robes. It was awful. Really, he almost felt bad for laughing at Weasel in second year after this curse rebounded upon himself. Almost.

"Look, I know it's him," Blaise growled. "It has to be! We found the shop and that Muggle bloke from the Prophet pictures is always minding the front."

"So why aaaAAAH - " He gagged violently on the next one; it was too heavy to come up by itself so he was forced to use his tongue and teeth in order to give birth to it. " _Ugh…_ So why ask me then?" he said weakly, gasping and shaking and trying very hard not to cry.

"I'm trying to ease you into this," Blaise sighed petulantly, like he was doing him a favor.

"I can't tell you anything anyway!" Draco spluttered before the next barrage of slugs hit. Blaise hesitated, wand raised. "There's a clause in every patient contract. _Huaghh…!_ Guaranteed confidentiality. I'm bound."

That was another twisted truth. He couldn't tell him just _anything_ , but he could let slip some details. He wasn't magically bound to absolute secrecy because Charming was an unlisted patient without a contract. It was all as off-the-books as it could get, but the Healer Code of Ethics, however vague, was something he took very seriously. He even proposed an addendum or three every year. No one could look at this memory and accuse him of moral impropriety.

Except for that reprehensible part when he handed over the letter.

"Potter's seeing a Mind Healer twice a week. Why?" Blaise was obviously unconvinced but Draco shook his head, feigning helplessness. He may not have been magically bound, but he wouldn't just throw Charming to the wolves.

"Why do you think?" he asked, swallowing thickly against the slime coating his throat.

"I'm asking the questions!" Blaise bellowed. Obviously there was a hefty sound-dampening charm on the ward he had thrown up because nobody was coming to his rescue.

"Who are you?"

"Shut up!"

"You're not Blaise. Blaise would never pronounce Charming like that. _Chaihrming_. What is that? Where are you from?" He could almost place where he had heard that accent, it was just out of his reach. As a Mind Healer specializing in memory, this kind of thing drove him up the wall. "And he'd never pair that cravat with lilac trimmed robes!"

"Draco - "

"At least three seasons out of date!"

"I'm warning you - "

"The boots are nice, a perfect replica of his favorites, I'll admit."

"You don't want someone else in here, Draco," Blaise seethed. "I'm trying to help you!"

"You're trying to protect me from someone?" Draco said, clearing his throat around the last of the slug-juice. "Or you're the only one who could pull off a decent impression of Blaise in order to get close to me?"

Blaise froze.

_Half a dozen witches and wizards in the collapsed house._

_Cruciatus Curse found to be cast by one of their wands._

_Blasting Curse by another._

_Obliviate by another._

_Half a dozen found dead._

How many survived? Potter had a talent for beating the odds, but how many others got away that night?

"If my life is in danger," Draco began, "I need some information in exchange. Something I can use to protect myself from whoever this ominous 'someone else' is." Blaise hesitated and Draco took his chance. "How many?" he asked, keeping it vague. That was something he learned years ago, during the war, during the countless interrogations he witnessed. There was a lot you could get from torture, but plenty came from the right questions.

"Draco..."

"Just, how many?" he repeated, turning pleading, friendly eyes on the counterfeit who obviously didn't hate him. It was a rare breed that didn't have something against Draco Malfoy. A mostly Slytherin breed.

"Four in ours, including me," he whispered, eyes darting around. "There are other groups, it's far-reaching. Bigger than Potter, really, but..." he trailed off, grimacing. "If Potter's back, it could be pretty far-reaching too. Draco, I'm just trying to smooth things over, I don't want to hurt anyone... It could all go to hell, for all of us."

"Because of what Potter might say?" Draco pressed, knowing the answer. Blaise nodded jerkily, lowering the wand slightly. There was a pause. An almost mutually sympathetic moment between two people who might have once been friends, if Draco could place his captor's identity. Then: "How much did he see?"

Blaise's eyes flashed in suspicion and the wand point came back to aim between Draco's perfectly shaped eyebrows.

"Tell me what I want to know," he said in that low, dangerous voice. Draco rather thought he might be through with the schoolyard curses.

"Ask me for something I can tell you," he suggested delicately. Nervously.

"Why is Potter seeing a Mind Healer?"

Draco cringed.

"Patient contract," he whispered, flinching when sparks flew from the wand. _Cruciatus Curse. Blasting Curse._ The report in Potter's classified file was seared into his mind, screaming at him to give it all up, tell this person everything he wanted to know so he could get home to Scorpius. "Please...I really can't. I want to help - " _I do want to help, just not to help you._ Blaise clenched his teeth but seemed to consider his next words carefully.

"When is your next appointment with...your charming new patient?" he said, clearly trying to work around the non-existent block.

"Tuesday, first thing in the morning," he answered immediately. Robards was frowning at him while they viewed the pensieve memory together and Draco scowled at the Auror, muttering, 'I was going to cancel, obviously...'

"I'll see you then," Blaise said in that low voice that wasn't his own. Draco barely had time to register the wand tip glowing before he cast, _"Obliviate!"_ and the memory faded.

Robards, Draco, and the remaining two Aurors were pulled from the pensieve and found themselves back in the Head Auror's office. Weasel had recovered from his laughing fit (though he was still red in the face). His partner, Auror Goldstein, was doing everything in his power to avoid looking in Draco's direction. Because he, at least, was a _professional_.

This was worse than slugs, standing here, bald, in the middle of the DMLE with no way home except to cross through the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

"When did you realize you had been Obliviated?" Robards launched right back into the questioning, the Quick Quotes Quill on his desk scribbling away.

Draco simply pointed at his bald, bald head. Weasel lost the battle and burst into loud, squawky, hoarse laughter, bringing Goldstein down with him. _Dammit, Goldstein,_ Draco thought, disappointed.

"And how did you overcome your Obliviation?"

Draco resisted the urge to simply walk out without answering such a stupid question.

"I graduated with honors," he said in the special clipped tone he reserved for the truly inferior. "Honors earned in the field of memory recovery."

"It's true, sir," Weasel interjected, catching his breath. "He helped Hermione's parents. Revolutionary, apparently. No one else came close to what he managed." Draco would have blushed if he were more modest. As it was, he thought the praise was well-earned and overdue.

"Spare me," Robards said, holding up a hand. "It's for the transcript." He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled face as he studied the stack of parchment that was the result of hours of questioning.

It was past ten in the evening now. Scorpius would be asleep. His mother would be pacing the east wing corridors anxiously, despite the reassurances he sent via owl. His father would be...well, there was no telling what state Lucius would be in from hour to hour. Hopefully asleep. All Draco wanted was a glass of fine Elvish vintage and maybe for Pansy to come off her extravagant honeymoon early and tell him he could pull off the bald look comparatively well.

"How did you recover your memories?" Robards asked, not looking particularly interested in the answer. Draco had caught him on his way out the door when he came in, bald and shaking and dripping in slug slime, demanding his undivided attention. It had probably been a long day for him.  _Poor Head Auror._ Draco's day was worse.

With a long-suffering sigh, Draco walked them through the oscillating process for memory recovery, which was hardly an exact science and left him with a migraine that even St. Mungo's strongest potions hadn't quite shaken. Healer Abbott had already given her statement about her assistance, this was completely unnecessary.

By the end of Robards's questioning, when the Aurors thought they had sufficiently tortured an already tortured civilian, Draco was released. To walk through the Atrium, to escort his own bald head to the Apparation wing, where he could finally return home. He wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful that no one seemed to even recognize him.

* * *

 

**October 2nd, 2010**

James woke to an owl tapping on their bedroom window. He could hear Monty singing, impossibly loud and off key, in the shower down the hall. He heaved a relieved sigh and the tightness in his chest began to ease. The excitement of the Quidditch game had finally won the old jolly Monty back after almost two weeks of bland conversation, quiet mornings, and no sex. Maybe he could join him in the shower today.

James rolled out of bed and hobbled stiffly over to the window to let the huge eagle owl inside. Healer Malfoy's owl. A grin stole over his face. He had worried that maybe his own message was lost when he didn't receive a reply by dinnertime yesterday.

_Mr. Charming,_

_No one wants to see an empty Charming box. Scorpius and I will gladly take two of those seats to prevent such a tragedy. We shall meet you at your establishment at noon._

_Could I borrow your hat?_

_Regards,  
_ _Healer Malfoy_

They didn't bother opening the shop that day since they would be closing up before noon. James didn't even worry about the lost Saturday sales; they spent all morning working through the mail-orders, which were exploding lately. Half of the new orders came through with wizard coins stuffed into parchment-envelopes. James set those sales aside in a biscuit jar for the boys, not eager to take another public trip to Diagon Alley anytime soon.

He caught Ron's eye through the front windows of the shop and waved awkwardly. He was dressed in Muggle clothes but James saw the strap of a wand holster peeking out of his shirt sleeve. He was on duty. Apparently, now that the shop was slowly being discovered by more and more of the magical world, it was prudent to amp up security.

Magical security meant invisible wards. The wards on his shop were the opposite of what most of the wizarding world used; they were designed to repel witches and wizards, instead of Muggles. Several people were exceptions to this ward, including himself, his boys, the Weasleys, the Lupins, McGonagall, and a contingent of Aurors. Ron promised to escort the Malfoys through today.

The warding was fine. It was having a security wizard on duty that made him feel ridiculous, like a critical political figure who was intent on fucking off and making chocolates instead of buckling down and getting to work. More and more lately, he had admitted to Malfoy that week, he felt like he owed more to these people than to simply carry on with his chocolate. But he _wanted_ to carry on with his chocolate. And Malfoy had insisted that it would be an abomination unto mankind if he were to abandon his work, so James shoved the feeling aside and carried on with the mail-orders.

To his credit, James did not collapse at the sight of a clearly bald Draco Malfoy wearing an ill-fitted tartan beret. James greeted the Malfoys calmly, offering young Scorpius (dressed in sharp semi-formal Muggle clothes with a perfectly tailored robe slung over Malfoy Senior's arm) a sprinkle-coated white chocolate truffle. It won his favor immediately and earned a funny frown from Malfoy when some of the sprinkles ended up crushed into the boy's trousers, so, a double-win in James's opinion.

"Hat."

Malfoy's voice was clipped and cold, his hand reaching out in demand. James bit his lip to keep from laughing as he handed over the warm knit cap that Ron had forced on him over a month ago. In the blink of an eye, Malfoy had swapped out the small beret for the plain black cap, but it didn't look much better paired with his own semi-formal Muggle clothes.

"Better?" Malfoy asked.

James nodded quickly. It was a wise choice, as it turned out, because when Ron failed to cover up a long, drawn out snort, Malfoy flicked his wand. Suddenly Ron was swearing and threatening to arrest everyone while he clutched his foot. Malfoy seemed pleased and unaffected by the threats.

"Shall we?"

They took a Portkey directly to the stadium box. Ron insisted it was the safest way to travel; he insisted loudly and often. They arrived safely enough inside the box, where the others were waiting. But James was disoriented and nauseous, and he couldn't get the image of his graveyard nightmare out of his head. Green light. Figures in masks. Red eyes, pale skin...Voldemort. His cane slipped out from under him, jerking him back to reality, but Malfoy caught him before he could crash into the ground.

James forced a smile as he greeted the others. Remus's face broke into a wide, happy grin that James couldn't help returning. The man looked decades younger like that. George clapped him on the shoulder and slipped him a small bag of suspect candy. Hermione had brought their five-year-old daughter, Rose, who immediately started lecturing Scorpius on the best colors of sprinkles. James dropped heavily into a seat between Malfoy and Monty, taking in the incredible view.

They were high up, eye-level with most of the action. Camera flashes lit up the glass walls of their box almost constantly, but James had plenty of breathing room. The game was incredible. Ron brought along a few vintage omnioculars, apparently their own from the Quidditch World Cup years ago, and they all passed them around gleefully while watching the Harpies thrash Puddlemere.

Malfoy was decidedly not gracious while watching his favorite team suffer a crushing defeat. He swore constantly, making creative use of long words and mythology. Monty seemed to take it as a personal challenge to outswear Malfoy with James caught in the middle. Puddlemere sent a bludger at the Harpies Seeker and Monty went off in his trademark pseudo-vulgarity.

"Tha's illegal an' yer maw's a rotted beetroot!"

"Eat wilted ambrosia, you Cronus-shagging tart!"

Hermione frowned and grumbled, ushering Scorpius and Rose to the opposite side of the box. Turning his head one way and another as the two went on, James wondered if they were still insulting the players.

Ginny and her fellow Chasers were superb, to say the least. James was on the edge of his seat and even found himself shouting silently along with the rest of the crowd when she pulled off a tight roll or a set of loops. Puddlemere put up a fight, but the Harpies were fierce. In the end, even after Puddlemere caught the snitch, the Harpies were victorious.

 ** _F-R-E-D, G-E-O-R-G-E could win that wager!_** James signed excitedly as they cheered the Harpies' victory lap.

"Who's Fred?" Monty asked. From the seat directly behind them, George startled.

"Fred, my brother?" he asked quietly, eyes wide. Ron leaned in curiously.

James nodded. **_Twin_** , he signed, mostly to clarify to Monty. He remembered Fred on the floor of the Great Hall. He had never forgotten that.

"There's two o' ye?" he cried in mock-horror. George grimaced and shook his head, but provided no explanation.

 **_Dead_** , James said, trying in vain to be subtle. He could see Fred and George clearly in his mind, the both of them trading off in their speech, always in perfect sync. He could see the funeral, somewhere in the far corners of his mind. Anytime Arty did something particularly stupid or Alec nearly electrocuted himself, James remembered George being left without his Fred.

"No wonder the boys latched ontae ye," Monty said a bit awkwardly before turning back around to wave at Ginny as she passed.

On his other side, Malfoy jabbed an elbow into his side and sent an inquiring look. James mouthed, _Later,_ gesturing to the flashing cameras around them. The translation spell, even if he wanted to use it in front of Monty and start another row, would only serve to broadcast his words to the press. They could bring this moment up in the privacy of Malfoy's office.

James found that he was looking forward to his next appointment.

* * *

 

**October 21st, 2010**

Monty scrubbed a paper towel across his stubbly chin, smearing away the last of the stroganoff.

 **_Good dinner_** , he signed, scrunching the makeshift napkin. James nodded with a pleased smile, eyes bright, and Monty caught himself staring. He adored seeing his little bird like this. October was turning out to be a definite improvement over September.

Halloween was coming up and the shop was overflowing with witchcraft-themed decorations and treats. Actual vintage cauldrons, donated by the Weasleys, were full of cauldron-truffles, each with a surprise "potion" ganache filling. Pointed witch-hats were upturned and suspended from the ceiling, carrying chocolate snaps decorated with tiny witch faces. The pièce de résistance was an enormous spellbook mounted on a pedestal: large flat bars of dark chocolate made the covers, thin white chocolate snaps (individually wrapped for quick and easy sales) made up the pages. James seemed particularly inspired this Halloween.

**_Another appointment tomorrow?_ **

James shook his head, standing up to stack the plates. He started to limp over to the sink.

"Oi Honda Civic, get yer caboose back here! It's ma turn tae wash up…." Monty rushed over to snatch the plates from James, steering him back to the table while he started the sink. "How're the appointments goin' then?" he asked lightly. They hadn't discussed the topic since the huge fight last month.

**_Good._ **

"Slow down, crutch, a cannae keep up..." he muttered, attacking a plate with the scrub-brush. James rolled his eyes.

**_I feel better._ **

Monty grunted in the affirmative. That was certainly true. James was sleeping at normal hours, eating regularly, and back to his obsessive cleaning. The shop, the kitchen, and the flat upstairs sparkled. More importantly, James was no longer pale and saggy, and they were once more enjoying their nighttime shenanigans. (And sometimes morning and afternoon shenanigans, now that the boys weren't underfoot.)

"Yer rememberin' more," he observed.

James was constantly referencing people and places that left Monty in the dark. He didn't know who Dudley was, or Seamus, or Neville, but any random customer would send James off on one story or another. What he forgot now was that Monty had never known these mysterious names. It was off-putting, Monty thought, to be so far separated from something in James's life. He had envisioned discovering this world together, meeting old friends together, but James was remembering things left and right, leaving Monty behind. Off-putting indeed.

But James was sleeping and eating and cleaning and smiling again, and Monty was happy.

 **_In school, Doctor M and I hated each other_** , James signed with a shit-eating grin. Monty didn't want to talk about Malfoy but he let James go on. **_A lot of fighting. H-E-X, C-U-R-S-E. He broke my nose._ **

Monty dropped the pot he was drying and it clanged to the tile floor, wobbling around on its rim until he stooped down to pick it up again. James squinted in _that way_ and Monty started re-washing the pan before he could say anything.

"Tha' man broke yer nose?" he asked, unable to keep the growl out of his voice. What were Ron and Hermione thinking, sending James to a bloke who hexed him and cursed him and once broke his nose? Hadn't he been through _enough?!_

 ** _I took my revenge_** , James went on, looking smug. **_Quidditch._** Monty snorted at their sign for Quidditch - a Q that wobbled through the air - and imagined Malfoy with a bloody nose and a broom up his arse.

"How're yer nightmares?"

James hesitated.

**_No change._ **

"But yer usin' yer wand more," Monty went on. It was one thing to see Hermione set a tea kettle to boil instantly or Ron to repair the facing on their front counter. But nowadays he was watching James summon his potion from down the hall, or light his way to the loo at night, or even keep the bathwater hot for hours while adding all sorts of goopy potions to the bubbles... Monty's little bird doing magic was an odd sight.

 **_Remembering spells_** , James explained, pulling out the wand that he had taken to carrying in his pocket. **_Reading year three books now._ **

"Yer no' afraid?" he continued as he poured more soap across the remaining dishes. "Only, ye said after the train incident..." And after the nightmare in September, and after the Portkey back to their shop following the Quidditch match… James _hated_ the liability of carrying a weapon that sparked and flared when he wasn't in his right mind. But lately the wand was never far from his hand.

James shrugged. **_Remember my wand_** , he said as he studied the shine of the wood. **_Like a limb_**.

"Wha', like an arm or a leg?!" Monty spluttered. "One ye just _fergot_ about?"

 **_Never forgot it_** , James insisted. **_Not completely._ **

Monty heaved a sigh. What a load. He _had_ forgotten it, he had forgotten it all. His wand, his magic, his Dudley, Seamus, Neville, and certainly his bloody Malfoy. And now that James was remembering, he forgot that Monty wasn't a part of all that old nonsense. Could never really be a part of it.

"Ye know, a was talkin' tae Remus at the game," he began, hanging the pot on the overhead rack. "He's a werewolf, right? An' he was tellin' me about the laws that lot has."

**_Werewolves have laws?_ **

"The laws that the _wizards_ have about werewolves," he amended. "Like, they're not s'posed to breed."

**_T-E-D-D-Y._ **

"Yeah, an' he weren't s'posed tae do that," he said, grimacing. "Got in a right bit o' trouble when the Ministry found out, even though Ted's mum was a regular human witch." James sat up straighter and, dishes put away, Monty went to join him at the table. "Teddy got taken away for a bit," he went on grimly. "Stayed in hospital fer a month tae make sure his genetics were all human and he weren't bein' abused or nothin'. Yer wizards don' like werewolves much. Don' treat 'em right at all, if ye ask me."

That would surely get James to see that his world wasn't all sunshine and daisies after the war. There was plenty that was fucked up. James was always having to defend his parenting to people who thought someone else could do better, someone who was older or less mute or more mobile or entirely straight. So of course he would relate to Remus's struggle and build up an appropriate wary outlook on the Ministry and maybe start taking everything that came from magic with a grain of salt.

True enough, James was trembling with rage, his mouth pressed in a thin line.

 ** _He takes a potion!_** he signed heatedly. **_Full moon, T-E-D stays with A-N-D-R-O-M-E-D-A. R is safe!_**

"Well you an' a know that," Monty said. "He's takin' all the sensible precautions, he's a good father, but there are still so many who wan' tae take Teddy away from him."

**_Who?_ **

"Did ye see the Prophet?" Monty asked, rifling through the stack of discarded magic newspapers at the end of the table. He pulled out yesterday's copy and flipped it to the editorial page, where a long letter was submitted by one Marietta Edgecomb.

James read it, eyes widening as he drank in every perfectly phrased politic. It was dripping in rhetoric designed to make the pill easier to swallow: though unfortunate and often kind-hearted people, werewolves were dangerous; the Ministry's registry was not enough nor was it up to date; finally, it was time to start phasing them out of wizard society. Pack life in the wilds of Romania would be an adjustment for many, but worth it for the world at large.

 ** _Bullshit, horseshit, H-I-P-P-O-G-R-I-F-F shit!_** James signed rapidly, almost violently.

Monty went to take the paper again but James snatched it back, flipping through it, searching for something. He slammed it on the table and drew his wand, giving it a wave. A steno pad and pen flew into his hand.

 **_Writing in_** , he explained shortly, uncapping the pen with his teeth and chewing on it with vicious intent.

Monty raised his brows. He supposed this wasn't entirely a surprise. When Alec ran into a spot of trouble with his English teacher, who "didn't believe in learning disabilities," he went off the radar. Spent ages plotting his revenge, writing angry letters to the school, consulting lawyers, researching the mechanics of car engines in order to incapacitate the lout's motor once every morning, thus preventing him from getting to school for two whole weeks. Monty reckoned that kind of passion could easily translate into a publicity campaign for werewolf rights.

* * *

 

**October 22nd, 2010**

Remus was just tucking into a new box of Charming Chocolates at the Head Table during breakfast when Hagrid tossed him the Daily Prophet. The front page was a clear threat to this beautiful morning - a headline screamed about yet another death linked to an illegal potion called Prism. He scanned the rest of the paper idly as he sucked on a truffle, wondering what it was that had Hagrid beaming at him. He found it on page 9 in the form of an extensive op-ed that took up the top half-fold:

_The wizarding world is abysmally lacking in rights, respect, and basic decency, and Marietta Edgecomb should be ashamed of herself!_

_An opinion editorial submitted by Harry James Potter..._

Remus gasped and swallowed a truffle whole, promptly choking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's tech week for Spamalot and I'm choosing to take pride in the fact that I still got a scene written each day, even if it was a rewrite of an old scene. Thanks for your patience. Hope you're still enjoying! (Hope you're not hating Monty too much but also hope you're recognizing some of those squicky things about their relationship!)


	5. Courtesy Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James gets an owl and she does her best to keep up. We're checking in all over the place, folks. Did you think I forgot about my precious characters? Stick around because we've got owl post, twin shenanigans, texts (remember flip-phones?), excessive water is featured TWICE in this one, and there are names aplenty for the cat and owl.
> 
> What we don't have is boys playing nice with each other. Draco is a little hung up on some things, and Monty is pushing again, and James is confused.
> 
> CW: a disjointed dream features drowning, but no one has actually drowned. You can skip that scene (November 15th) without missing any plot development, or pick up again four paragraphs from the end of that scene.

**October 26th, 2010**

_Dad & Monty, _

_The Reader is still working great, thanks for sending a 2nd one for Talia! Wish I had it years ago, maybe Mr. Alan would have backed off. Madam Pince gave me a new quill that checks spelling as it writes so I'm back on quills instead of pens. Robert & I joined Charms Club and it's really cool. Flitwick promised to teach us how to animate soon. We're going to make a Frankenstein monster. I'll keep you posted. _

_Everyone here is talking about that article you wrote and they're all asking questions again. What exactly are we allowed to say? I think they've all just about settled on "the Charming Chocolates bloke" and Harry Potter being the same person especially since you keep sending chocos to Prof Lupin. I think the jig is up._

_Awaiting your command, Captain. (So long as it's "stop keeping secrets and just tell everyone the truth already!!!")_

_Love,  
_ _Al_

_PS - Got a name yet for your new owl? I vote Donna._

* * *

 

_Dads,_

_Still trying to make my paintings move like real life instead of wiggly gelatin brains. Flitwick says to use charms but all the portraits at school say it's in the paint. Well I'm using the magic paint so what else is there?????? Leonard McCat needs a proper tribute or she'll eat my homework again!!!!!!!_

_Help pls_

_Ar_

_PS - how come you're allowed to talk like that when it's in the newspaper and the whole world can read it but we get snapped at when we try just ONE of those words_

* * *

 

**October 27th, 2010**

_Al & Ar, _

_Mail-orders have taken over our lives so I think the world has caught us out. Closing the shop on Tuesdays now just to keep up with the orders. Tell people whatever you want._

_On Monday the Wizengamot is hearing the case of a werewolf couple that took in a Muggle girl. There's only laws about breeding, nothing about adoption. They're just making things difficult. They have no business bringing this to court in the first place. So Monty and I are going in to a protest at the Ministry that day. It's a silent protest which is convenient enough that I can't just let the opportunity pass, even if someone steals my hat again. Actually, should I wear the hat? I feel naked without it but the whole point is for them to know it's Harry Potter…_

_Al, before you bring home any magic Franken-monsters, can you do something with Helen? She's still dead and creeping up the pantry. I'm going to hide her under your bed._

_Ar, I'll see what I can find out about portrait-painting. Princess Leonard is not an excuse for not handing in homework. Ask Al for a charm to repel royal goblin cats from your parchment. If I hear you're not turning in homework, I'll hide Helen under your bed instead._

_Love,  
_ _Dad & Monty _

_PS - Arty, swearing is wrong even when it's in the newspaper and your dad is very ashamed of himself but will probably do it again._

_PPS - No name yet for Ms. Pretty Ginger Feathers. Considering Donna. Black Widow implies tragic past, can we lighten up please? Little Mermaid? Anne of GG? I Love Lucy?_

* * *

 

**October 28th, 2010**

_Dads - told everyone you're aliens, that ok? You said tell them whatever we want. Play to that at the protest, it's cooler than the magic war hero stuff anyway._

_Ar_

_PS - it's Her Royal Meowjesty Queen Leonard McCat. Not_ _Princess_ _._

_PPS - cowards, I've already got Ms. Pretty Ginger Feathers answering to Black Widow!!_

* * *

 

_Arty,_

_Magic war hero stuff is so 20 years ago. Got any green paint?_

_Don't feed Lucy sweets._

_Monty_

[enclosed: a new "Princess" food bowl.]

* * *

 

**October 29th, 2010**

_Dean,_

_Been awhile! Sorry I've not written the past decade and a half. Long story. Do you and Seamus want to grab a pint sometime? Ron says he could use a blackout._

_I've got two kids now and one of them is artistically inclined. He's in his first year at Hogwarts and he's trying to figure out the trick to those moving portraits. He's using magic paint but says it's just moving like wiggly gelatin brains. What's your diagnosis? Is there a cure?_

_Harry P._

* * *

 

_Haz,_

_What the fuck?_

_Enclosing a book on portrait painting and one of my old kits. I've moved on to bigger and better brushes. If you bring your squirt by the gallery over Christmas hols, there's a workshop on Sundays._

_Also what the fuck? Meet at the Leaky tomorrow at 9. Pack our backstabbing traitorous dorm-mate who kept us in the dark._

_Dean & Seamus _

* * *

 

**November 1st, 2010**

_Mr. Charming,_

_This is yet another a courtesy notice, though you never reply. Your next appointment with Healer Malfoy, Mind Healer Extraordinaire, is scheduled for 9am on Wednesday, November 3rd. Please do be prompt, he's a very busy man with better things to do than to hold your grotesquely unmanicured hand._

_From,  
_ _The Offices of Healer D. Malfoy  
_ _Mind Healer Extraordinaire  
_ _Janus Thickey Ward_  
_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies & Injuries_

* * *

 

**November 2nd, 2010**

"He was never one for publicity," Blaise noted as he studied the Daily Prophet stretched out in front of his face. A small protest about werewolf rights had transformed into front page news thanks to Saint Potter's Gryffindor theatrics. Granger had clearly put Charming up to this stunt; this and the op-ed almost two weeks ago seemed like her brazen handiwork. "Unlike you."

Draco sneered. "He always got his fill. We civilians have to carve out our own reputations."

Blaise snorted, barked a laugh, and then snorted again, doing a wonderful impression of a kneazle with a cold. "How's that working out, Mr. Malfoy?"

" _Healer_ Malfoy..." he grumbled, smacking the newspaper down.

It was eerie to be sitting here in his office again, with Blaise, discussing Harry Potter. Just a month ago, he was tied to this same chair as "Blaise" ruthlessly tortured him for information. He ran a hand through the offensive fuzz atop his head. It wasn't even long enough to slick back yet. He looked mad. He would know, working in the Janus Thickey Ward.

"You'd do well to invest in more headwear," Blaise observed mildly as he folded up the paper. "It will take ages to regrow without hair potions."

"Hair potions sacrifice luster and shine!" Draco hissed.

"Not Starr's! They use only the highest quality ingredients. I'm happy to run along to Nott's apothecary for you, seeing as you can't be seen in public without the Golden Boy to outshine your head."

"Are you quite finished? I tried Starr's, you second-rate ichthyes," he growled. "Came in red."

Trying very hard not to laugh, the bastard croaked, "And was it lustrous and shiny?"

"Blindingly so."

Blaise looked to be in pain as he oh so bravely swallowed his laughter. "Be that as it may, I cannot witness you make another public appearance in that disgusting knit cap!"

"You won't because I gave it back to Potter." Draco gave his best dignified sniff as he poured himself a glass of water. "It was a matter of urgency. I wasn't about to go out in Mum's vintage tartan beret!"

"Oh, it was urgent?" inquired Blaise, all innocence and wonder. "You urgently wished to make a public appearance on Harry Potter's arm?"

"He asked me along," Draco shrugged, running a finger along the edge of the crystal water pitcher. "I can't deny Scorpius box seats for the sake of avoiding a cripple."

The silence that followed was suffocating and Draco dearly wished it wouldn't be so telling to gulp down the entire pitcher of water, or perhaps attempt to drown himself in it.

"Draco..."

"Box seats, Blaise."

"You can afford th- "

"I can afford anything if it's available. Box seats are reserved."

"How did you even come to be in contact with Harry Potter?"

"Leave it, Blaise."

"You went from seeing him on the front page to appearing next to him in the sports section." Draco could see the cogs turning in Blaise's mind. The blasted Pisces _knew._

"He uses a cane, I am a Healer," he said noncommittally. "Take from that what you will."

"Then I'll have to infer that you're not a very good Healer, because he still uses that cane."

"There's only so much that can be done - "

"And you're a specialist now, hidden away in the dark recesses of the Janus Thickey Ward," Blaise went on, maintaining that infuriatingly innocent tone. "Why would Potter go to you for a limp?"

A second round of suffocating silence. Draco swallowed and poured himself another glass, spilling over slightly. He mopped up the little puddle with a random bit of parchment, only to realize it was a patient intake form that had yet to be duplicated. _Dammit._

Blaise's gaze darted down to the form as Draco lay it out flat to dry. His eyes widened in understanding. _Double dammit!_

"Ah."

"No - "

"I see." Blaise ran his fingers across his lips in that way he had when he was in deep contemplation and forgot what he looked like.

Draco had brushed him off last month, citing Auror threats and confidentiality clauses, when his friend came to him suspecting foul play. Blaise knew he was drugged to sleep on the fateful day when Draco had been robbed of his hair. He knew something had happened to Draco that sent him off to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, leaving behind his hair and a pile of luxury chocolates on the rug. After the Aurors (briefly) arrested him, Blaise knew the two incidents were connected. But as an Unspeakable, Blaise was rather accepting of Draco's excuses.

And as an Unspeakable, he didn't need Draco to just hand over the answers. He could figure it out on his own. _Triple dammit._

Blaise heaved a weary sigh. "I suppose your silly little Code of Ethics prevents you from cashing in on this gossip." His mouth quirked at the corner and he dropped his hand to pick idly at the arm of his chair. "Even to me, your most loyal friend."

"Such _loyalty_ , to get himself impersonated, leading to the most heinous crime committed since the Second War."

"Funny you should mention the Second War."

"Blaise…!" He dropped his face into his hands before pushing them back through his fuzzy hair.

"Just weeks ago, you see, a certain friend of mine voluntarily went to a Quidditch match with a certain Man Who Conquered," Blaise carried on. His expression shifted into something more considering, calculating. "Have you finally gotten your handshake, Mr. Malfoy?"

"That's not what this is about," he muttered, rearranging the quills in his stationary stand.

It certainly wasn't about Potter's cool rejection at the start of their first year. For Merlin's sake, they were children back then. He shouldn't have gone after the Weasel right off the bat like that, and Lord Potter, Conquering Savior and God of Merciful Wizengamot Testimonies, should have given Draco's shitty eleven-year-old manners a second chance.

This - whatever he and Charming had - was something else entirely. Because Charming was entirely different from Potter, Gryffindor-inspired protest be damned. Charming was a grown man, not a wiry boy in a red and gold tie with a stick up his arse about justice, good and evil, right and wrong. But then Draco's eye caught the photo on the front page again and that wasn't entirely accurate….

But Charming and Potter _were_ different. Entirely. Potter was a brooding idiot who couldn't dress himself properly outside of the Hogwarts uniform, and Charming - well, Draco couldn't say he was impressed with the Muggle jeans, jumpers, and knit cap, but at least his clothes came close to a proper fit. And the Malfoy family had always appreciated the style potential of a good walking cane.

Charming was funny! Potter had never been funny in his life, not once. Charming was witty and sarcastic and could be delightfully cutting sometimes. Potter was a blundering, semi-sentient Expelliarmus spell without an iota of humor.

Potter was arrogant, always thinking he knew better than everyone, suspecting Draco and Severus and all the Slytherins were up to something. Granted, they were up to some things at the time, but giving them the benefit of the doubt could've saved a lot of fuss. All Draco was up to at the time was protecting his family. Potter would have done the same in his situation, but instead he got to play the hero and Draco got to stand trial.

And then Potter went and got himself killed. The world mourned ostentatiously while Charming was born. Charming still managed to stumble into trouble, albeit a lot more quietly than Potter ever did. He became a single father, worked for every Knut, centered his whole life around providing for two children. And he gifted the world some damn fine chocolate. It was hard to begrudge someone any of that. Potter was surly, even when he had everything going for him. Charming was - well, certainly not chipper, and thoroughly broody sometimes, but he was not a jabbering idiot that was always itching for a fight. Not like Potter. Not yet, anyway...

"He's a different man now," Draco supplied, his tone even.

"Any truth to the rumors?"

"Rumors?" Draco took another cleansing swallow of fresh, cool water. Water had never betrayed him, unlike Blaise.

"That Potter is really your Prince Charming."

Draco spluttered violently, dribbling the traitorous water down his green Healer robes.

_"Excuse me?!"_

"Oh not like that! Calm your tittering heart, princess! Lest you...titter yourself to death!" Blaise looked quite pleased with that one and Draco wanted to hurl the pitcher at his ineloquent mug. "Is the rumor true," Blaise started again, very slowly, as if he were an imbecile, "that Potter is the upstanding citizen behind Charming Chocolates?"

In the wake of a question so similar to the one false-Blaise had asked a month ago, Draco fell silent. But that was all the answer so-far-seems-to-be-truly-Blaise needed. His friend settled back in his chair, all smug and shitty.

A third round of horrible silence.

"What of it?!" Draco finally broke.

"Nothing," Blaise shrugged innocently. His eyes darted to the side, to the spot on the rug where the new variety box had perished that day. "So he's sending you complimentary chocolates now?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you're not denying it."

"That's faulty logic," Draco countered. "Severus would be terribly disappointed."

"I don't take lessons in logic from a Death Eater spy who got himself digested by a snake."

The pang in Draco's stomach was much less than it would have been if he had heard this comment ten years ago, but it still hurt, even from Blaise. And he wanted this conversation to end ten minutes ago.

"Fuck you," he said shortly, pushing his chair back and gathering up random bits of parchment.

"Dragon, come now - "

"Fuck off, I've work to do." He shoved the random bits of parchment into a random folder and stood imperiously. "Always a pleasure, Zabini. You know your way out."

Blaise rolled his eyes but stood, snatching up the discarded newspaper. "Look, that was too far, I'll admit." Draco was desperate to try out that new hex, the one that would cause Blaise's teeth to bite himself every time he opened his mouth. But he resisted, as he always did with his chatty scrotum of a friend. "But we're not through talking about this," Blaise went on. "Potter's seeing you professionally? You're seeing Potter _socially?_ I am an Unspeakable, Draco. I can respect obligatory reticence, but I simply cannot let this mystery rest."

"You let the mystery of my attack rest," he pointed out. No one actually seemed to care that he was ambushed in his own office. No Cruciatus, no matter. Abbott, their supervisors, the hospital board, the Aurors - no one really seemed to mind what he had gone through after he gave his statement and his memorial evidence. Weasel upped the security around Charming's shop and said they would _keep an eye on Zabini for a while._ Just another reason to toss Blaise out on his cold, uncaring, perfectly shaped arse. "Good day."

"Draco - "

"I said good day!" And on that flawless note, Draco stalked out of his office with the feckless folder.

* * *

 

**November 3rd, 2010**

James wasn't sure what he did wrong, but he clearly fucked up.

Malfoy was back to his clinical, painfully professional self. No jokes, no smirks, no sneers. For a cold, hard hour. But not even their initial meeting had felt as empty as this. That first meeting, there had at least been _something_ simmering under the surface, though James thought they had successfully steered it toward a healthy banter instead of the violence and suspicion of the past. In the six weeks they had spent together as Healer and Loon, Malfoy was normally the cool and aloof sort that could transition smoothly into theatrical and candid. He was posh and vulgar, understanding and judgmental. Not at all like the professional berk that was blinking blankly at him today.

 ** _You need a trim_** , James had signed at the start of their session, dropping lazily into his chair. Malfoy read the gold smoke from James's wand and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. So James tried again. **_Do you want to borrow my jumper?_** he asked, pulling up the hood to cover his own hair and eyes with a cheeky grin.

Worse than the professionalism was the frigid shoulder James was getting. Malfoy wouldn't look at him, only at the smokey letters. In their torturous hour together, all they talked about was his sleeping schedule, his eating habits, and the protest.

"Typical Gryffindor behavior," Malfoy scoffed, in one of his more expressive moments. "Do you find you're often driven to such exhibitionism? Merlin forbid the world forget your chivalry."

 ** _Am I chivalrous?_** James signed stiffly. **_I forgot. You know._** He spun his finger around his temple with a salty grimace.

"Yes, you're always forgetting things," he sniffed. James thought he heard, _Including your manners_ , but he couldn't be sure. He leaned to the side, toward the dissipating smoke, trying to catch Malfoy's eye. The pointy git still wouldn't look at him. It was infuriating.

 **_Every day, remembering more_** , James pointed out. **_P-O-T-T-E-R stinks._ **

Malfoy blinked at him - at the smoke, rather. James made a small circle with his fingers and brought it to his chest, indicating the badges that a young Draco Malfoy had made during the Triwizard Tournament.

"If you're concerned about your hygiene, we'll have to cover that in our next session," Malfoy finally said, his tone clipped and cold.

 **_Your badges_** , James tried, making the symbol again and again. He gave a tentative smile through his own annoyance. _**Year four**_ ** _._ **

"A student died in that Tournament, Mr. Potter," Malfoy snapped. "I hardly think it's something to bring up in a joking manner."

James reared back.

 **_Charming_**.

Malfoy nodded once but his lips tightened, going as pale as his skin and blending in with his chin.

"In our first meeting, the one in which you agreed to pursue my care, you indicated that you were not interested in gaining full memory recovery," he said while he studied a form in James's file, as if reciting from a script. "Unless you've changed your mind, I suggest we leave Mr. Potter out of our sessions. From my own experience, I can assure you that he will only bring us trouble. Do you understand, Mr. _Charming?"_

James frowned. He had always referenced Harry Potter in past sessions - sometimes to lightly discuss old memories that had cropped up, other times to tease Malfoy about their strange rivalry that didn't quite make sense to him now - but only today was it a problem. For some reason.

 ** _What is wrong?_** he asked.

"Nothing you should trouble your little Gryffindor heart about," Malfoy answered. James pulled a face. _God, what a wanker!_ Weren't therapists supposed to use their words? He felt like he was interrogating a toddler.

**_What did I do?_ **

" _Nothing_ ," Malfoy hissed, tucking an imaginary lock of hair behind his ear. James rolled his eyes.

 **_Are you angry because I teased you? Your hair?_ ** Malfoy's lips disappeared entirely and James wanted to shake the git. **_Really?_ **

"You can say whatever you like during your time here," Malfoy went on in that stupid, stupid, _stupid_ tone.

 ** _You will not look at me because I teased you,_** James signed in utter disbelief. What, were they first years again? Even Al and Ar weren't this petty. **_You tease me!_**

"I make observations about how you choose to present yourself, Mr. Charming," he sighed, looking pointedly at James's trainers. The sole was peeling off the bottom of one of them, but they were comfortable and he thought he might get a few more weeks out of them. "It's all tied into what we do in this program, I assure you."

 **_Psychology_** , James huffed. Sure. Malfoy telling him he looked like an actual bowel movement in his stain-covered mustard-yellow jumper was completely necessary in the process of mental health care. What was friendly banter anyway?

"You've certainly made all sorts of observations!" Malfoy said, sounding a bit more shrill now. James leaned forward, raising his brows in mock-interest. "The difference is, I bother to _ask_ you about these things. To see how you're doing! To check in!" James frowned. _He wants me to ask him about his hair?_ "If you showed up bald to the Quidditch match, I certainly would have asked what had befallen you to cause such a travesty. Or miracle, in your case."

**_You talk when you want to talk. I do not want to pry._ **

"Well, that's a first for you!" Malfoy was positively screechy now, though not quite yelling. "We're not _friends_ , Charming," he continued, unveiling more hostility with each word. James sat back again, his back thumping against the chair and winding him slightly. "I don't just go blabbering about life-changing events to people like you. To _patients_."

James felt his heart drop into his stomach. Life-changing events…? _Oh god! Oh fuck, he's sick! Bloody hell, I'm such an idiot! How could I miss this?!_

 **_Sorry_** , he signed immediately, his hands fumbling around each other. **_Sorry Sorry Sorry! Did not know. When? What?_ **

Malfoy looked surprised and vaguely suspicious.

"A month ago, Charming," he said simply, as if James was slow, which he was. "Just before the Quidditch match.

 ** _What?_** James assumed it was okay to pry now, since Malfoy seemed hurt that he had never asked before. Despite all the signs! Bloody hell. Of course he was sick. He was pale and peaky, there were circles under his eyes for weeks after that Quidditch match because he was obviously losing sleep over worry and fear and -

"It's a bit late to ask now, seeing as it's all over," Malfoy began with a weary sigh. "And you're quite right, Charming. We are not friends."

 _What? I never said that! You said that!_ James was so confused. Did he really ruin everything by not prying into his Mind Healer's personal life? He enjoyed the sessions, enjoyed the snarky appointment reminders, enjoyed the Quidditch match, enjoyed the time away from home that didn't require running errands and texting Monty. They didn't have to be friends, but friend- _ly_ was better than...this.

 **_We could be friends_ ** , he tried. As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong way to go. Malfoy barked a laugh and flipped open his schedule book. Clearly he thought James was pitying him for being sick. _God, I am such a stupid shit._ All the easy back-and-forth they had enjoyed the past six weeks seemed to evaporate in a single hour; James wasn't sure how to talk to Malfoy anymore. Not because he was sick, but because he was hurt. James had hurt him.

"I am free the morning of the eighth, does that work for you?"

James nodded weakly. Monty would be annoyed - he preferred James's appointments to stay away from Mondays, their day off from the shop. But James felt he had to be there for Malfoy. He had to find some way to fix this, to show him he cared. Yes, as a friend. They _could_ be friends, if James tried harder. Inviting someone to Quidditch wasn't enough, of course. Between his and Monty's long-term relationship and Harry Potter's old crowd, James Charming had clearly forgotten how to treat a friend.

He could work on that in their next session.

* * *

 

**November 5th, 2010**

_Mr. Charming,_

_This is a courtesy notice. Your next appointment with Healer Malfoy is scheduled for 9am on Monday, November 8th._

_From,  
_ _The Offices of Healer D. Malfoy  
_ _Janus Thickey Ward_  
_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies & Injuries_

* * *

 

_Haz,_

_Up for another round tomorrow? Name the place and bring your Muggle._

_Dean & Seamus _

* * *

 

_Deamus,_

_Come over to ours, we'll make boozy chocos._

_Harry_

* * *

 

_Draco,_

_Thanks for the appointment reminder. Making boozy chocolate at ours tomorrow, want to stop by? Dean and Seamus from Gryffindor will be there. Ron and Monty too._

_James_

* * *

 

_Haz,_

_BOOZY CHOCOS??? BOOZE IN CHOCOLATE? Where has James Charming been all my life? That Boy-Who-Lived ponce is sacked._

_Seamus_

* * *

 

**November 6th, 2010**

_Draco,_

_Did you get my note yesterday? Boozy choco night, always fun. We play loud music, use the little bottle-shaped molds for chocolates, then when it cools we fill them with shots and get sloshed. You don't have to drink, we can fill them with whatever we've got in the kitchen. You could make your own box! Bring someone if you like. Got plenty of Gryffindors._

_James_

* * *

 

_Draco,_

_Not sure if you're getting these. Open invitation even if you can't make it tonight. We do something like this every Saturday night when the boys are home. (No sloshing with them.) (Please don't call the Aurors on us.) Seamus is off his tit excited._

_James_

* * *

 

**November 7th, 2010**

_H &M - the fuck happened last night we can't hardly remember our names _

* * *

 

_Deamus,_

_Welcome to my world._

_From,_

_???_

* * *

 

**November 8th, 2010**

"If there's nothing else you'd like to work on, I feel it is best we call these sessions to a close."

Draco watched with a carefully blank face as Charming absorbed his words. The man was wearing that hideous yellow jumper again, the one with stains and discolored blotches all over. His baggy, tattered, paint-stained trousers were the worst Draco had seen since Potter himself was traipsing about unchecked. His hair was ruffled from the wind - surely he hadn't left the house like that - and his eyes were comically huge as he took in Draco's meaning.

**_No more appointments?_ **

"We've accomplished your goals," Draco explained as he referred to Charming's file. "You yourself claim that you're managing your empty nest much better now. You're using magic again and coping well enough with your nightmares without my input. We've covered self-care and you've improved on that front to the level of a basic functioning adult. Kudos." Charming scrunched his face up in that Potter-way, the one that told Draco he had said something annoying. _Good_. "I believe you can only improve further if you leave the nest yourself. Learn to fly. Girl Weasley can assist there, but I certainly can't do anything more for you."

Charming's hands lifted and hovered, and Draco could just _see_ Potter opening and closing his mouth, speechless. It only took nineteen years, but Draco had finally done the impossible. He had shut Potter up.

"If there's nothing else…?" It would be their shortest session yet, a mere fifteen minutes, in which Charming had told him all about his Gryffindor piss up and offered pointed comments and vague questions regarding Draco's personal life. _How are you feeling_ and _I'm happy to watch Scorpius anytime you need some time to yourself._ He couldn't wait to usher the little weirdo out of his office.

Charming looked about to say something, hands still hovering stupidly in the air, but then he seemed to fold in on himself. Gaze averted and a scowl tugging at his lips, he nodded, stood, and limped through the door.

Sealing up Charming's file and banishing it to the Ministry, Draco idly noted that he would have to find a new source for his chocolate supply. Potter had tainted Charming Chocolates after all.

* * *

 

**November 9th, 2010**

James saw on the telly once, years ago, a trashy daytime program that was pumping the studio audience full of wishy washy relationship advice right alongside recipes for Halloween treats. While James was taking notes on the recipes - nearly all of which ended up bunk - he idly listened to the host speaking with a woman in the audience who had recently divorced.

He remembered that she said something along the lines of:  _if you can only share what makes you happy, you'll be stuck with half a relationship._

He considered talking to Malfoy about Monty. The man was suffocating him: going through his post to triple check the apothecary got the prescription right, since James was apparently too scatterbrained to notice; constantly bringing him his cane when he had only walked ten feet away from it; shutting off the stove when he still had one or two more batches to get through, claiming he had done enough for the day.

When he was feeling a bit better about the boys, about his memories and his wand, he had made the mistake of letting Malfoy see only what was making him happy. And now all he was left with was a mess of wobbly coping mechanisms and a smothering boyfriend prone to jealousy and worry.

And he missed Malfoy's company. He would grudgingly admit that if he was unwilling to share his Monty-troubles with Malfoy, then perhaps he had gotten all he could from therapy. But that didn't mean they couldn't still talk. Or...was he turning into a clingy nightmare patient that demanded his doctor's personal time as well as professional? They had fun at the Quidditch game and half their sessions included nothing at all related to therapy. They often just bantered, laughed, teased, and shared; they talked about Malfoy's family and friends nearly as much as James's. Had James misread that as friendship? But then why had Malfoy been so hurt when James didn't pry into the incident in October? When he didn't treat him as a proper friend?

The Malfoy Mess was just as daunting as the Monty Mayhem and James was stuck. Should he talk to Monty about how to make things right with Malfoy? James could do with a friend that wasn't Harry Potter's choice. Or should he request another appointment with Malfoy to learn how to deal with Monty's insecurities? He could do with Monty's peace of mind, if he just knew how to bring it out.

James sighed and reached over his head to get another pot down. He was preparing Monty's favorite ganache for the next round of chocolates and he always made a small batch just for him.

* * *

 

**November 10th, 2010**

_Dad - book says adding merfolk pee to the paint can make it glow!!! Do you remember how you held your breath so long in that death tournament? Don't fancy drowning. Trying to be responsible here._

_Ar_

* * *

 

_Dean,_

_Look at this letter my son sent me. What else was in that bloody book?_

_Harry_

* * *

 

_Agent Al,_

_Special secret mission for you. Steal that magic portraitry book from Ar. Send it back and there will be a new expanded set of microtools under the tree this year._

_Agent J_

* * *

 

_Ar,_

_Do not go into Black Lake. Repeat, don't you dare. Standby for instruction._

_Dad_

* * *

 

**November 11th, 2010**

_Father,_

_I seem to have temporarily misplaced my Reader and I was not able to read your last letter. Please re-send with something that reeks less of fraternal betrayal._

_Alexander_

_Dictated but not read because I have temporarily misplaced my Reader_

* * *

 

**November 12th, 2010**

_Mr. Charming,_

_Arthur Charming has been assigned detention three nights a week for the rest of fall term for his involvement in the flooding of the Slytherin Common Room._

_Regards,  
_ _Minerva McGonagall_  
_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

* * *

 

_Arthur,_

_What_ _did_ _you_ _do?_

_Dad_

* * *

 

**November 13th, 2010**

_Dads - listen to my side of the story before you start screeching!!! I'm a STUDENT I'm supposed to be LEARNING & I want to LEARN how to PAINT with MERFOLK PEE! If you just told me how to hold my breath for an hour like you did back in ancient times, this kind of thing wouldn't happen. The Slytherin common area is under the lake so I thought opening a window there at the right time would let me collect a sample. Only but then the water rushed in & pushed me back & I couldn't use a reparo & Slytherin had to be evacuated for a few days. _

_Tell McG this was all a misunderstanding & she's punishing me when I'm just trying to LEARN MAGIC STUFF at MAGIC SCHOOL. _

_Arty the ARTIST!!! _

* * *

 

_Arthur,_

_You're on glass-cleaning duty every day forever. Stay away from the Slytherins, that sort can hold a grudge._

_Dad_

[enclosed: a vial of merfolk urine from Starr's Apothecary]

* * *

 

**November 14th, 2010**

_Alec,_

_Good on ya, son. Never turn on your brother. Santa will make sure that toolset finds its way under the tree. Coal for J._

_Monty_

* * *

 

**November 15th, 2010**

That night, James dreamt he was underwater. Arty was tied to a pillar at the bottom of the lake. The merfolk were guarding him, keeping James away with sharp spears while Arty - eyes wide and pleading, mouth open in a garbled scream for help - ran out of air. The water was freezing, the current was pulling him back from his boy, Alec was shrieking at his side, crying out for his brother, and James was too slow, too weak, too stupid to reach him.

Arthur drowned.

James cradled him on the beach. Arty didn't even look like himself anymore, he was shriveled up and tinier than ever, his unnaturally huge eyes staring up at him accusingly. Alec was still shrieking, James could hear him under the ocean waves - it was an ocean now, not a lake - and cold fear gripped him again... Alec was still under the water, he didn't come up with James, he would drown too!

He seemed to have no control over his own actions. He watched his hands as they dug a makeshift grave for Arthur's transformed corpse. He kept digging even as he listened to Alec's screaming, wailing, howling, until all he could hear was the sound of the waves.

He woke up crying. Monty was snoring next to him. Shaking, James slipped out of bed and down the stairs, leaving his cane behind and relishing the pain that kept him grounded in reality. Every blink, every dark corner, he saw Arthur. He could still hear Alec's voice ringing in his ears.

With the lights off, the shop was shadowed and gloomy, but still warm. A quaint little street lamp just outside threw soft orange through the storefront window and he was just able to distinguish the familiar shapes and pieces that made up his shop. The displays were all recycled furniture he had spent an entire summer transforming into things he could use. A reclaimed manicure station was perhaps the oddest bit, but surprisingly versatile. It displayed their luxury chocolates in a series of little tiers that once held dozens of bottles of varnish, and its long sweeping counter was perfect for larger samples packed into gift boxes.

Narrow, waist-high bookshelves were lined up strategically to create aisles that the customers could browse near the front, without overcrowding the already cramped space. Along the walls were a variety of "shelves," which were mostly made of planks of wood rescued from the cupboards that had been falling apart in the kitchen before it was refinished as well.

Where shelves wouldn't fit, they had hung framed photos, newspaper clippings, the boys' art, and even a few pieces of school work that James was particularly proud of. A vertical strip of the back wall featured several ribbons and certificates that Alec had won in science fairs and robotics club. James had framed all six pages of Arty's original short story that even Mr. Alan had grudgingly admitted showed some promise. More than his original recipes and clever holiday themes, James loved to show customers these little treasures. Last summer, just before closing one night, he spotted someone reading the story in its entirety and he kept the shop open an extra half hour so they could finish it. Arty was embarrassed but pleased when James marched him over to meet his fan.

Alec's screams were still echoing in his mind and the waves were playing on loop. It was much too dark to push the image of the makeshift grave out of his head. He needed some light. Needed something to do. James scrubbed both hands over his cheeks, wiping away the wet tracks. He turned from the shop and headed into the kitchen, switching on the radio as he went.

* * *

 

**November 20th, 2010**

Monty was worried. He was a worrier. A nurturer, too. And his nurturing side was telling him to fix James. His flighty bird was restless, he thought. Lucy was a quick and easy distraction, thanks to Hermione's suggestion. But while he was certainly fond of the Madagascar Red Owl (who he insisted on calling Anne) James needed something to keep him busy. From the moment he woke up in hospital twelve years ago, James was pushing, pushing, pushing himself. To walk, to work, to be a good dad, to stretch time itself to do even more.

Things were going well nowadays. Running smoothly. There were no fires to put out, Malfoy had even called it quits and declared that James was fighting fit. But without a battle to fight, James was restless and stressed.

"What'd'ye think about expandin' intae baked goods?" he asked lightly as he pulled a pristine carrot cake out of the oven. He preened when he caught James's bright eyes admiring the cake. He loved making candy with James, but baking was his pride and joy.

 **_By the slice sells well_** , James nodded, referring to the cakes they kept on display at the counter and sold slice by slice. They could go through half a dozen cakes on a good week.

"Meant more like a proper investment," he needled. "Marge next door is lookin' tae sell the boutique..."

 ** _Expansion?_** James asked, scrunching his face in uncertainty. **_Second shop?_**

"Just an expansion," said Monty soothingly. Expansions were easier than opening another business. But James still looked panicked.

**_You want a bakery?_ **

"Ye know a wanna bake," he snorted as he wafted a baking sheet over the cooling cake. He wanted to get the frosting on before bedtime. If he timed it right, he would have enough time to tend to James's nerves in bed, make sure he got a good night's rest. "It's a natural extension to a candy shop. We'll take over this side of the city in confectionary goods!"

It was a long time before James responded but Monty was patient.

**_Display?_ **

"More floor space in the shop w'be a good practice run," Monty said amiably. "We cannae look at a full expansion if we've no proper idea of how they'll sell."

James nodded slowly but didn't respond. Monty tried not to take it personally… James was always hurtling into things at breakneck speed, and it was a testament to how out of it he was feeling that he wasn't already plunging into this idea.

"Think on it, love," he said mildly as he gave the frosting another stir. "A just wanna give you something to do besides pine over Malfoy."

 ** _What?_** James blinked in surprise. _Could've said that better..._

"Oh ye jus' been sulking a bit since Malfoy called off yer appointments. He said yer fine after all, an' a agree. Think yer just bored. Thought ye might be gettin' too attached tae the git, if ye ask me..."

James squinted his eyes in a questioning look that had Monty choosing his next words carefully.

"Nobody invites their therapist out tae a game, James," he explained. "Ye saw 'im more like a friend than yer doctor...a think it was time he backed off. No' professional."

 **_Jealous_** , he accused with a scowl.

Monty grabbed the piping bag and cut off a large piece of the point.

"No jealous," he defended, avoid James's glare. "Jus' think therapists need tae respect the boundaries. An' the lout broke yer nose once, James!"

 **_Broke Harry's nose, not mine,_ ** he shrugged. **_Teenagers._ **

"A jus' think - "

 ** _You are jealous,_** he insisted. **_We talked about this. I need my own friends._**

"He's yer therapist no' yer friend."

**_Not my therapist now. I want a friend._ **

"Ye have me!" Monty cried, throwing the piping bag down. "Ye have me, the boys, and Ron and Hermione! Dean! Seamus!"

**_My family, Harry's friends. I want a friend that Harry did not choose for me._ **

"An' that's Malfoy?"

**_If he wants me, yes._ **

James kept signing, but Monty turned away. He seized the piping bag again and got to work. He wished James would shut up and do the same.

* * *

 

**November 22nd, 2010**

Draco sipped his imaginary tea and graciously complimented their host. Draco didn't even mind negotiating his long form to fit into the miniature chair at the miniature table, because Scorpius was a paradigm of manners.

"Thank you ever so much for having us over," Astoria gushed, beaming. She took a biscuit (also imaginary) from the proffered plate and took a small (imaginary) bite, humming her delight.

"We must do this more often," Scorpius said seriously as he settled the plate of biscuits back onto the table, which stood at the perfect height for his own six-year-old self to sit comfortably. "Do tell us about your travels, Mummy."

Astoria shared a look with Draco, who smiled into his teacup, and obliged.

"Well, Scorpius, I've been in Greece these last couple months, as you know," she began. Scorpius nodded and pried for more details that he wouldn't fully understand, details about her research and studies. Astoria specialized in ancient magic history. Scorpius could barely remember what he had for breakfast, so Draco doubted he could quite grasp the intricacies of ancient Grecian male fertility ceremonies.

"Many pardons, Master Scorpius." Grosh, a house elf who was perhaps old enough to recall first hand those ancient ceremonies, popped into the room at Scorpius's side and bowed low. "A message has come for Master Draco."

Draco barely raised a brow, choosing to turn to Scorpius instead. Draco was a guest at Scorpius's tea time. He would defer to the little gentleman.

"If you must," Scorpius sighed in a long-suffering way that sounded _just_ like his grandmother. Draco excused himself, promising to be quick, and found a note waiting for him in the parlor.

_Draco,_

_How goes it? Dean talked about a new dragon exhibit in London. Thought I'd open late this Saturday and check it out then. It'll close before the boys are home for hols but I can still tell Arty about it when he gets in. Interested? Monty's staying home._

_James_

"Potter..." he sighed to himself.

He read it again, drinking in every word, every punctuation mark, every terribly-formed letter G. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Another chance with Charming...and this time, it would be without that Gibbs fool breathing the same air. And an exhibit! Harry Potter wouldn't have been caught dead visiting a dragon art exhibit - perhaps destroying it with an actual dragon, Draco could see that happening, but to appreciate it? Never.

But the fact remained that James Charming _was_ Harry Potter. And Harry Potter would never truly want to befriend Draco Malfoy (nor would Draco wish to have anything to do with Potter, thank you very much). The flow of resurfacing memories hadn't exactly slowed; Potter was creeping back into Charming's fractured mind a bit more each day. Draco bemoaned Charming's reintroduction to the wizarding world and his own role in bringing Potter back to life. No good would come of letting this carry on. Potter was too powerful, too annoying not to cock it up from beyond the grave.

A year ago, Draco could have counted Charming as a good friend. As usual, Potter had came storming through to ruin things. Protests and op-eds and shit comments on Draco's shit hair that was only shitty in the first place because of Potter's idiocy.

"Draco..."

Draco turned on his heel at his father's voice. Lucius's hair was drawn back and he was dressed in fine clothes, though they were a bit outdated. His eyes were shifty, as they always were these days, and he seemed to either blink too often or not at all. Draco followed his currently-unblinking-gaze to the red owl that sat on the windowsill, waiting for a possible reply.

He saw what would occur a moment before it happened. Lucius lunged for the owl, clasping it tightly between pale, bony hands.

"The Dark Lord..." he hissed. "Potter will come for his precious pet! This is Potter's, you said? Yes! He will come!"

"Father, let it go!" Draco started peeling each finger back one at a time while the owl hooted in distress.

"It's Potter's!"

"The war is over," he cried. The owl had stopped hooting, which meant it couldn't breathe. "I don't want to hurt you, please! Let it go!"

"Draco, son," Lucius huffed, blowing a loose lock out of his face. "We can use this to our advantage! We can send a Portkey back and - "

Draco whipped out his wand and threw a stinging hex at his father's arm. Lucius immediately dropped the owl, which fell to the floor. Draco stooped low to gather it from the shiny marble. It was skittery and ruffled, hooting in outrage and panic. He cooed softly at it while Lucius retreated, ranting about traitors to the cause.

"PUNISHED!" Lucius screeched from the stairs. Draco focused all his attention on calming the poor creature in his arms while his father's voice drifted away. He wondered what Scorpius would have to say about his grandfather's awful manners today.

The bird looked angry, but unharmed. He got a swift clip from a sharp beak, but he managed to appease the ginger owl by agreeing to finally write a reply. It would be the first time he'd written Charming-Bugger-Potter since he ended their professional arrangement two weeks ago. Her owner would be pleased, no doubt, and the owl seemed chuffed that she had at least earned this much through her suffering.

* * *

 

_Charming,_

_Though I will not accompany you to the dragon exhibit, I encourage you to go. The paintings produced with dragon scale pigments are divine. Arthur will hang on to your every word._

_Malfoy_

* * *

 

**November 23rd, 2010**

Hermione banged her head against the dinner table while Rose babbled on about her busy day with Molly.

"Alright?" Ron asked under Rose's incessant chatter.

Hermione handed him both letters. They had been dropped off at different times of the day by the same owl - Lucy or Anne or Donna or Black Widow, whatever the poor thing's name was - but were written from two different idiots.

Monty was whinging about James needing a project but refusing to take his advice, as usual, and could Ron use his magic law powers to please make Malfoy disappear.

James was carrying on about Malfoy as well, but implying he might be sick or maybe he was just sick _of James_ , desperate to know if he himself was being a clingy nut and what could he do to get Monty off his back.

Ron lifted the letters out of Rose's reach and read them while Hermione took over feeding Hugo. Honestly, they had their hands full and these grown men needed to sort out their own problems. But Hermione had never been one to leave Harry wallowing in his stupidity for long.

* * *

 

_Monty,_

_You need to let James work out for himself what he wants to do and who he needs in his life. James is not Harry, but he's enough of Harry in him to dig in his heels when he feels forced. And don't you dare try to twist his feelings against Malfoy! If you knew Harry and Malfoy back then, you would appreciate the minor miracle it took for those two to be getting along so well now. I'm shocked it only required total memory loss for one of them, rather than both, to bring this about. No good will come of ruining it._

_James has enough work, love, and family. Everyone needs friends._

_Love from,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 

_James,_

_Do let me know when you've removed your head from your anus. You're being selfish and approaching this all wrong. Is this how you communicate? Monty is trying to help and you need to talk to him like a proper adult instead of letting your temper steer the conversation into another fight. Don't accuse him of jealousy. Find a different way to tell him how he's making you feel without making it sound like he's a monster. He loves you and is trying to help. He's not a villain._

_Malfoy has every right to say no to your friendship with or without an explanation. I can't read his mind and I don't know "what he's playing at." You may have hurt his feelings at some point, I don't know. My advice again is to talk to him like a proper adult instead of letting your insecurities put too much pressure on a final answer._

_For both, I suggest you make gestures of good will._

_Love from,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - Ron and I have been teaching the children basic signs but we would love it if you would come over more often. I'm starting to think that Ron's teaching them swears, they keep signing things I can't find in the book._

* * *

 

**December 1st, 2010**

Every holiday brought business but Christmas was ridiculous. The customer flow never seemed to stop that Wednesday but James still found time to wriggle and dance behind the counter. The Daily Prophet that morning had detailed the Wizengamot's final ruling on werewolf/non-lycanthrope adoption. Three weeks ago, the Muggle girl had been reunited with her adoptive parents and the family sent home with an apology, seeing as there were no laws currently on the books barring werewolves from adoption. More than that, however, was the decision that took place yesterday. James went with Hermione to the protest, leaving Monty to tend to the mail-orders.

The atrium was jam-packed with press and protesters on either side of the issue, but James and Hermione soon found their people. Hours passed, James used his wand to speak to one reporter briefly, but when it began to turn into an interview about his disappearance ( _What happened in 1998? Who hurt your leg? Why aren't you speaking?_ ), he moved on.

By dinnertime yesterday, Monty was well and truly worried, flooding James's phone (which was upstairs in their bedroom) with texts and even phone calls. When he finally came home yesterday, Monty was in a state, but James could hardly take in a word. Because by dinnertime, the Wizengamot had officially voted on a new foster system that would protect adoptive werewolf parents while providing them with a voluntary supply of Wolfsbane Potion. It was the first and only positive use of the werewolf registry and James was elated.

Even Monty's foul mood couldn't cock it up. Christmas music was playing, the shop was full, the boys would be coming home in a matter of weeks, and he and Hermione had managed to hold a bumbling conversation together in sign language yesterday. Brilliant.

They closed the shop at nearly nine o'clock that night. Having no kids around to cook for meant that Monty could just get take-out while James minded the shop a little later than usual, then James could use a bit of quick magic to tidy up and shut down.

Monty ate dinner in stony silence, watching James's hands as he tried to make conversation but only ever responding with noncommittal grunts and shrugs. It was out of character, even for an unhappy Monty.

 ** _Are you upset because of yesterday? Or is something wrong?_** James finally asked. _Maybe he's feeling ill? Actually, I should check on Malfoy soon..._ Monty sent him a look and he sighed. **_Both. I know. Sorry._**

**_You are not._ **

**_I am sorry. Cannot take my mobile to the Ministry. Magic fries it._ **

**_You said the protest would be short._ **

**_Said home by dinner._ **

**_Missed dinner._ **

**_One hour!_** James pushed a hand through his hair, pulling at the locks in frustration. Twenty-four hours of pouting for being one hour tardy!

 ** _I was scared!_** Monty's eyes were shining brightly and he felt a tug of guilt. **_You disappeared once. You bring attention to yourself more and more, will disappear again! Harry is gone. James is a father. Think of Alexander and Arthur, me!_**

James hesitated. He had had it in his head that Monty was sour for being left behind to mind the shop.

 **_Sorry_** , he said again, more gently this time. **_You are right. Next time, H-E-R-M can help me send a message without a mobile._ **

**_Next time?_** Monty scrunched up his face, making him look simultaneously twenty years younger and twenty years older.

 **_We can do more_** , James explained excitedly. Hermione had a lot of brilliant ideas of what they could do next, ideas that could help Remus keep the Ministry off his back when it came to Teddy. _**S**_ ** _tart a campaign for werewolf family rights. R-E-M-U-S, T-E-D -_ **

**_You are not serious._ **

**_What?_ ** James frowned. Why wouldn't he be serious? This was a serious issue!

**_If you want a project, I can help you._ **

**_Do not need a project,_ ** he argued in disbelief. _**N**_ ** _ot a bored housewife!_ **

**_You always have a project_ ** , Monty insisted. **_The shop is doing well. Let's expand._ **

**_I do not want to expand_ ** , he said urgently, hoping to finally speak his piece. Communicate, Hermione had told him. Monty had always been a baker at heart and they had talked about expanding into baked goods before. James was always up for a challenge but adding a bakery unit was just too much for their dynamic. **_Happy with the shop._ **

**_You are bored. We can do more._ **

**_Not bored. Happy. Happy with my life, happy with my shop._** It was true - even Malfoy had seen it, which was why he called an end to their sessions, because James was happy. Not because he had fucked up irreversibly...right? James shoved those thoughts aside - Malfoy had responded to a letter, things were improving. He just needed time to come to terms with whatever life-changing event had sent him spiraling.

 **_Our shop_** , Monty frowned. **_Ours._ **

James hesitated. It was his shop, technically, and had been since the grand opening four years ago. His name was on all the paperwork, his hard-earned money got it started. He didn't hire Monty full-time until a year after opening, and he paid him a salary as an employee, not a co-owner.

But Monty had volunteered countless hours to keep the boys busy while James renovated the dilapidated kitchen, refurbished the second-hand furniture, and finished the floors. Together, they painted every room, installed heavy appliances in the kitchen, and planned and pulled off an opening day that brought in dozens of customers who would later become their regulars due to Monty's easy charisma.

In a way, it was their shop. As much as James wanted to claim it as his own, he knew he owed Monty more than a salary. Another twinge of guilt tugged at his heart, but a small part of him cursed his past self for allowing Monty to insert himself so completely when he could have done it all himself with a little more effort.

Monty was watching him with that disappointed frown and James offered a nod. _Our shop._ He stamped down the part of him that was mourning _his_ shop. He should be grateful to have someone to share his shop with. To share his life with. Malfoy had told him once that Harry Potter was an arrogant git with his head firmly planted up his own arse. James was determined to not let that Potter pride ruin things.

As much as it pained him to admit, he knew he owed so much of what he had to Monty's unending patience and support.

But opening another shop, a huge expansion that would tie Monty and him together as business partners… Sirens were going off in James's head, screaming at him to shut it down. He went through hell to get Charming Chocolates on its feet; he started in the kitchen of his run-down flat on the other side of town, painstakingly scraping together everything he had to put a deposit down on this place.

Did Monty even grasp what it took to _open_ a business? He hadn't been around all those nights that James spent awake, perfecting his recipes; he had still been working at the bakery while James carted the boys around town, promoting the mail-order. Monty only jumped in once the bank had invested and the shop was purchased. Granted, he could likely skip half the effort if he used James's hard-won foundation to jump-start his own project. But what if it all fell apart? Would Charming Chocolates go down with it? With all the tension lately, the rows and strained meals, would their relationship even _survive_ the tedious renovation process?

What Monty was suggesting was massive: it could be bigger than their relationship, bigger than their entire history as lovers, friends, co-workers. It was asking for another ten years, or twenty, or maybe even a life-time, or to end in disaster. James wasn't prepared for that kind of investment. He had spent the last eleven years dealing with the last life-blow that tied him down to an anchor. For the first time in living memory, James was enjoying his freedom, his independence; he couldn't sign himself up for the next anchor.

He had to get this idea out of Monty's head.

 ** _What do you think about a second shop? Separate from CC?_** he asked, knowing it would be shot down.

 ** _Why not an expansion?_** Monty threw back. **_Customer base in CC. More stable if we expand. Easy._**

 ** _Not easy._** James exhaled heavily, his worst fears beginning to take form. Monty really had no idea how difficult this would be. **_A lot of work. CC is enough. I want a life outside of the shop._**

 ** _You worked until 9 tonight,_** he argued. **_You like to be busy._**

James ran his hand through his hair again, not knowing how to deny that. He did like to be busy...when it was his business, his recipes, his kids keeping him busy. And now, sure, his old friends and his new politics. And Monty, of course, when he wasn't being difficult.

Was Hermione right? Was he being selfish?

 ** _I am busy enough,_** he said instead of all that. **_This is big. BIG._**

 ** _I helped you,_** signed Monty, his hands short and curt. **_Now you can help me. You are good at this._**

 **_Not good,_ ** he protested. **_I learned. Business is work not talent._ **

James _knew_ that Monty knew better. Business wasn't something to be "good at," it was pouring over account balances, micro- and macro-transactions, supply orders, inventory, and research. None of which Monty ever did; all of which Monty watched _James_ do while commenting on how studious his little bird looked when he was hunched over the books.

 ** _You can help me,_** Monty insisted. **_I cannot do this without you._**

 _But I could've done it without you…_ that dark part of James whispered. _I_ was _doing it without you._

That wasn't how it went though. He let Monty help him eventually and so now he owed something to the man. Something more than his bed and his life. Just...Merlin, just not another shop.

 **_I will think about it_** , he acquiesced. Monty looked ready to go on and James waved him down. **_Let me think. I will make you happy. Love you. Want you to be happy._ **

And that was true. Under all of this tension, all the rows and strained meals lately, James loved Monty so much sometimes it hurt. He loved his warmth, his care, his belief in James when James thought he himself was the malevolent cause of all the fires in the world. James loved Monty's smile, his brown eyes, and his wiry hair. His voice and his clever tricks to swear without swearing. For five years, their easy friendship had grown closer, stronger, until it led to a messy snog in James's cramped little office that was more suited as a cupboard...a snog that of course sent James into a month of full-blown panic before he decided to try it again. And again and again and again.

Monty must have seen his sincerity because he smiled in that wide and deep way that made James's chest hurt a bit. Montgomery Gibbs was everything that was gorgeous and warm in the world when he smiled. They leaned over the table and shared a soft kiss, and James smiled back.

They could figure this out.

* * *

 

**December 2nd, 2010**

[incoming text from: J-bird]  
_Tried to move Helen from pantry to upstairs  
_ _She lives_  
Thirsts for blood

[incoming text from: Monty]  
_Told u 2 wait 4 me shes 2 heavy 4 ur stick arms_

[incoming text from: J-bird]  
_U still @ tesco?  
_ _Can u pick up bandages_

[incoming text from: Monty]  
_U ok?_

[incoming text from: J-bird]  
_Shallow cut  
_ _Just keeps bleeding_

[incoming text from: Monty]  
_Put pressure on im omw_

* * *

 

Monty was trying very hard not to start shouting. It would only upset James, and he was looking peaky enough on that hospital bed. But the doctors - Healers, whatever these magic people called themselves - could act a bit more concerned.

James had suffered a long scratch on his forearm from Helen the Robot, a scratch that should have stopped bleeding after a few minutes. Instead, Monty walked into a veritable bloodbath upon returning home. Blood had dripped all along the stairs - where the mauling took place - along the hall and into the bathroom, where he found James with his arm over the sink, clasping a soaked flannel to the wound and getting greyer by the minute.

Monty was already on the phone with emergency services when his eye caught the potions by the sink. James took three potions every day: one in the morning for joint health, and two split between morning and evening for pain management. Something like that was likely to show up in the bloodwork. So he rang up the Weasley-Granger residence and Hermione got them to St. Mungo's.

"Potion-induced hemophilia," Doctor Abbott declared. He rather liked this doctor when she performed James's physical back in September. She was able to sign quite well, having a Deaf father. "Did you bring a sample of the potions you're using?"

"The ones _you_ prescribed?" Monty grunted, not feeling particularly charitable toward her anymore. He handed over some fresh vials from James's supply.

"Prescribed by St. Mungo's and filled by Starr's Apothecary," she corrected as she sent the vials floating out of the room and down the hall. "We don't have much in the way of your family history, Mr. Charming, but it's possible you are susceptible to hemophilia given the wrong combination of potions. It's rare, but that's our working theory for now."

"Any other theories?" Hermione asked quickly before Abbott could retreat.

"Well..." she began, eyes darting down to James on the bed. James blinked owlishly up at her. He was full of blood replenishing potions and still out of it. There had been so much blood in the sink… "Our other theory would mean calling the Aurors in. So let's hope it's just a bad combination. Either way, we'll get you fixed right up."

An hour later, the Aurors were called in.

Monty and James sat through round after round of questioning while a team of Healers and potioneers were questioned down the hall. A single ingredient had been substituted in James's pain potions - powdered graphorn horn in place of fluxweed - but the switch was not indicated on the label. It was not likely to be a mistake, given the cost of graphorn horn. The result was a potion that looked and acted exactly as the original supply of pain potions that James had received from St. Mungo's...except, if James were to cut himself, the wound wouldn't stop bleeding until he received a magical antidote.

If Monty had taken him to the Muggle hospital, James would be dead.

The Aurors were treating it as a poisoning, an attempted murder, possibly an assassination attempt given James's recent political endeavours. The words swirled around in Monty's head while James regained his color and started whinging.

 ** _I hate hospitals,_** James signed to Abbott, who smiled indulgently at him.

 ** _H-A-R-R-Y did too,_** she replied, looking to Hermione. To Monty's surprise, Hermione nodded her agreement without a translation. She was a sharp lass and must have picked up a lot in the past few months.

"We'll get you home soon as we can, mate," Ron promised, apparently able to follow the signing well enough too. Monty's heart swelled up - Harry Potter, whatever he was wrapped up in that was still plaguing James, had damn good friends. He was glad to have found them, even if he could do away with the rest of the nutty magic world that was stealing James away. "Just a few more questions. Your potions were fulfilled by post, correct?"

**_Yes._ **

"Always under the name 'J. Charming'?"

**_Yes._ **

"D'you know who signed off on each completed order? Was it always the same name on the tag?"

James shrugged and Monty answered without hesitation, "Montague, Nott, and Vane."

Hermione's head whipped up in alarm. "Romilda Vane?"

"Dunno," Monty said. "Only a last name on the forms. Not been the same any two months. Got the first lot direct from St. Mungo's in September, October was signed Montague, November was Nott, an' this latest one said Vane."

**_Who?_ **

"Romilda Vane once tried to use a love potion on Harry," Hermione supplied. Ron relayed some orders to the Aurors in the hall and said his goodbyes before hurrying off.

"Love potion, eh?" Monty said, leering suggestively at Harry.

"Not really all that funny..." Hermione muttered under her breath.

 ** _M-A-L-F-O-Y here?_** James asked Abbott.

 **_He left at five o'clock_** , she answered kindly.

Monty cleared his throat. The situation was far too serious for his jokes and James was never in the smiling mood when he was in hospital. It was time to get him back home.

"Right, are we done?" he asked Abbott. "He's looking fresh enough, yeah?"

"If the Aurors are through and Mr. Charming is feeling up for it, you may go at any time. We'll get you a fresh supply of your potions from our own stock."

"Dinnae think we should keep on wit those, tae be honest," he said. James sent him a sharp look. "This was a close call. James was doin' jus' fine wit the Muggle stuff."

 ** _No,_** James protested. _**N**_ ** _ot fine._**

Abbott nodded to James. "Of course it's entirely up to you, Mr. Charming. I can understand if you're unsure, given what's happened, but I will fill your supply myself if it will ease your mind."

James nodded firmly, sending Monty a glare that told him to stay out of it. But he was never too good at that, not when he knew better.

 ** _These people almost killed you,_** he said. **_No one tried to hurt you with pills, ever._**

 ** _Pills do not work,_** James said, shaking his head. **_I can do so much more with these potions. Almost no pain. Do not want to go back to the old pain._**

 ** _I can help you,_** Monty assured him. **_You can rest more._** James was doing too much, working extra hours, worrying about the new plans for a bakery expansion. Monty was clearly asking too much of him and now he was forced to rely on magic to get him through. Given half a chance, James always pushed himself too far.

 ** _Do not want help,_** James said simply. Abbott looked uncomfortable. **_Want less pain._**

**_Less pain if I help more._ **

**_Not discussing this!_ **

Monty was taken aback for a moment at the ferocity of James's signing, but reminded himself that the man had been through quite an ordeal that day. He was cranky and he just needed to get home and rest. They could fight this battle another day.

**_Let's go home._ **

James smiled gratefully and Monty breathed a little easier to see it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally supposed to include Christmas, but it was turning into a monster. So much introspection. I threw in a lot of letters and texts to make it a little easier to swallow. Excessive introspection, character growth, relationship dynamics...it's all part of the recipe! But it was getting unwieldy so I cut it off before Christmas got involved. And finally, I added the nightmare scene to help ground myself in this chapter...it might look like James trying to ground himself in his current life, but really it's your humble author, trying to breathe and gather the courage to post this beast of a chapter.
> 
> Thank you for your comments! (I literally read them dozens of times throughout the day to inspire me.)


	6. Luxurious & Tacky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan, goes down, splatters everywhere. In author-terms, this is the "turning point" of the story. So buckle up for the next 16k.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long time (and a lot out of me) to write for many reasons. There's so much conflict (James/Monty) and conflicting emotions (relationship angst/holiday fluff). It's a tricky thing to write, to give weight to a two year relationship and seven year friendship without turning anyone into a raging supervillain. I have a lot to say on their relationship, too much to type in the notes. Dissect this chapter to your heart's content. There's some intentionally squicky stuff I hope you'll recognize as Unhealthy Relationship Goop but also some gray areas I hope will confuse you, because real life is messy.

**December 3rd, 2010: Friday**

Draco was on his third round of checking through the month's supply of potions that would be shipped out to Potter when Blaise interrupted.

"Not now!" he snapped, adding a drop of goblin water to the vial. The solution turned pink briefly before returning to its original blue. Clean. Next vial.

"Testy as a pair of quizzicals," Blaise muttered, clearly basking in his not-cleverness. He crossed his arms and leaned against the tall lab counter on which Draco was working. The post would go out in twenty minutes and he wanted to be absolutely sure this lot was safe. He may not have been speaking to the Golden Git of Gryffindor, but he wouldn't see him dead. Again.

"Someone's out for Potter blood," Draco explained shortly, flapping his hands at Blaise as he picked up one of the only-tested-twice-thus-far vials. "Literally, as it turns out."

"And you're supplying a bit of poison to help them along?" Blaise quipped as he eyed the three rows of twenty blue vials and three rows of ten green vials.

"They're _his_ potions," Draco growled. "I'm just ensuring they've not been tampered with."

"Thought you'd like to know about Greg," his friend sighed. Draco spared him a glance before going back to his work.

"Go on then," he prompted, feeling a flare of impatience with Blaise's dramatics.

"Arrested."

"Greg?" Draco straightened up from his stooped position. "For what?" Gregory Goyle was a bit of a brute in their school days under Draco's command, but left to his own devices, he wouldn't hurt a fly. He preferred to focus on his music. What trouble could he have possibly gotten into while still living with his mumsy?

"No charges. I suspect he'll end up in the recovery program," he said pointedly.

"No..." Draco abandoned the vials in favor of staring at Blaise in quiet shock. "Is...is he alright?"

"Prism's a hell of a potion," Blaise said by way of explanation. "He's still in holding at the Ministry. Seeing as he hasn't been rushed to emergency, I suspect that's a good sign."

Draco bit his lip and gripped the counter, his knuckles turning white. He breathed deeply and told himself it could be worse. Prism was nothing if not powerful, so it was lucky that Greg was getting help sooner rather than later. It was the sort of potion that could have changed everything, could have been worshipped by the healing world, if it weren't for the downfalls.

The iridescent potion could cure any ailment, its pushers claimed; upon consumption, it would chemically transform into whatever potion one most needed. If someone was dead tired and in need of a good rest, they could drink Prism instead of Dreamless Sleep Potion. If someone suffered a broken bone and couldn't manage the spell to set it, they could just Vanish the bone and take Prism for an instant dose of Skele-Gro. A miracle solution.

But cruelly addictive. By its very nature, Prism was an imitation. Like a boggart: powerful and effective, but not quite true. Instead of putting someone to sleep once to set them back on track, it would wreak havoc on their sleep cycle, prompting them to seek the potion over and over again. And while it would regrow a bone, the pain of the regrowth would never fade, not even with a pain reliever like what Draco was testing for Potter now. They would seek out Prism as a pain reliever, again and again and again…

Its versatility and addictive quality made a fortune for sellers, but their customers never lasted long. The build up of toxins in an addict's body was quick, painful, and lethal. Recovery was long, painful, and often lethal.

"Dammit, Greg..."

Blaise said nothing. Draco handed him a dropper. Together, they finished testing the rest of the shipment in silence.

* * *

 

**December 5th, 2010: Sunday Night / Monday Morning**

Last week, before the incident with Helen that landed him in hospital, James visited the London dragon art exhibit alone. It was strange to be out by himself for once, not really on an errand, but certainly a welcome respite from Monty's hovering. James said he was going on a Tesco run, said he forgot to put bananas on the list earlier that week, and that was true. But then he caught the Knight Bus over to London and took in the exhibit. As he rushed home, he picked up a couple of underripe batches to make chocolate-covered bananas, and Monty only seemed slightly suspicious when he said the Muggle bus had stalled six streets over and he'd been forced to walk and that was why he was late.

Of course, claiming to have walked seven blocks meant that Monty marched him right upstairs to put him to bed before noon. James managed to negotiate his way onto the sofa, where he spent the rest of the day "resting." (Sulking, watching a game or three, and wishing Malfoy was around to talk to.)

And then Helen's attempt to murder him had put James in hospital for half a day. He was released, ordered to pour his old potions down the sink and wait for new ones. After just twenty-four hours on his old Muggle pills, James realized two things:

  1. Chronic pain was hell on earth and he would never go back to relying on Muggle pills.
  2. Monty was smothering him like a two-ton blanket on fire.



Even with the new supply of potions, signed by both Abbott and Malfoy, Monty wasn't happy. Every time James tried to do anything, it was wrong. He shouldn't stand and brush his teeth when there was a perfectly good toilet lid to sit on, like an old man. He should wait at the top of the stairs for Monty to carry him down bridal-style, it was just good sense and not at all embarrassing. He should let Monty handle the kitchen while he minded the counter, so he could at least sit on the stool by the register. Nevermind the fact that he spent all his time at the counter awkwardly explaining to customers that he was just mute, not hard of hearing, not stupid, not stubborn or rude, while missing his kitchen desperately.

 ** _Why have a shop if I cannot cook?_** he asked Monty earlier that Sunday afternoon when the man came to check on him for the umpteenth time.

 ** _Let me handle things today,_** Monty signed, brows raised, eyes wide, hands already coming out to massage James's not-sore-thank-you-very-much shoulders. **_You relax._** James shrugged him off with a glare and Monty looked a bit hurt.

That look annoyed James at the time but later in the night it would haunt him. Monty was snoring away next to him, but James was wide awake. He was treating the man like shit, he knew. Pushing him away when he only wanted to help. It was in his nature to help, it was what made Monty _Monty_. Montgomery Gibbs grew up translating for his Deaf parents and looking after his younger sister, who now lived in Kent with her new wife. James had met him about a year after his elderly parents caught a nasty flu and died within a few weeks of each other. A life like that was a recipe for an affectionate, demonstrative man who sometimes let fear and jealousy get the better of him.

James had always known that Monty was a nurturer and, yes, a touch emotional. These traits weren't faults, and James felt awful for rejecting such an inherent part of the man. But he felt smothered and helpless in the wake of Monty's constant hovering. He considered getting him a needy pet, perhaps a small dog with intestinal issues, to keep him busy, but thought that might be a bit too on the nose. And James could use a bit of help sometimes, he reminded himself. He should be grateful to have someone who tried to carry him down the stairs like a twat. He wouldn't have complained ten years ago when he was walking ten blocks every day to get to the grocery.

Monty was a good man and he deserved the world. James couldn't give him the world, couldn't even give him what he was asking for. But he could do something, dammit.

James eased himself out of the bed they shared. He considered sneaking an extra dose of the new pain relieving potion, knowing he would be pushing it tonight, but decided for a pill instead and hobbled down the stairs with his cane. Maybe he would let Monty put him to bed in the morning. Monday being their day off together, maybe he could convince Monty to join him in bed come morning.

Downstairs, when he went to move the first piece of furniture, it occurred to him that this idea would be much easier to execute with his wand. But he had left it upstairs, stowed away in his sock drawer. Ah well. He would rather drag around a bit of old, fairly light-weight furniture than heave himself back upstairs to retrieve the wand.

Four hours later, it was past three in the morning and he was beginning to sweat through his t-shirt and jogging bottoms. But the shop was completely transformed. He even pulled apart a supply pallet in the alley to make a few signs. Years ago, he had stowed a load of renovating materials in the cupboard under the stairs, including sandpaper and paint, and the signs didn't look half-bad. _Pretzels & Pastries _ would go up front, for the impulse buyers. _Cupcakes_ in the middle, where customers put together their own collection of treats in custom variety boxes. _Ask us about our made-to-order cakes!_ would hang back-center, where the luxury chocolates were, for the harder-to-please customers.

While digging out the ladder to hang the new signs, he crashed his hip into the counter and had to sit down for several minutes. The pain nearly made him vomit and he cursed himself for forgoing the pain potion _and_ forgetting his wand. He couldn't even summon the vial. After a long while, when he thought his heart rate had returned to normal, he shakily pulled himself up the ladder and used twine to hang the signs from the ceiling beams. It took a bit of finagling to set them straight - had Alec stolen his level? - but the end result looked professional enough. Quaint and simple, but clean and straight. They could have called it a proper confectionary shop now.

His inspiration didn't stop there. After returning the ladder and cleaning up the supplies, he stopped for a cup of tea in the kitchen, where he found Anne. While stroking her feathers, he found himself picking through the notebook that held a load of recipes and ideas he was still working through. Hermione had told him to make gestures of goodwill to both Monty and Malfoy. The gesture for Monty was massive and life-changing and they would have a lot to talk through tomorrow to get the kitchen ready to handle a new supply of baked goods. Perhaps the gesture for Malfoy could be a bit more contained…

James grinned. He knew what to do. Planning and renovating was hard, sweaty work, but he loved to cook. He hobbled back to the cupboard, hardly able to breathe for the pain, and dug into Harry Potter's old trunk. He had barely touched the trunk; for as long as he insisted he was James and not Harry, it felt like an invasion of privacy. But there was one thing he would need for this project: his old astronomy book.

It was nearly dawn by the time he was putting the finishing touches on the large collection of shiny dark chocolates. The Draco constellation in particular, he wanted to be sure it was perfect. Malfoy was difficult to please sometimes, difficult in general, but this would make him smile. It had to. His hands were steady as he poked a series of white chocolate dots along the five truffles that made up that constellation. Those five were nestled close to the four that made up Cepheus and three that made Irsa Minor. Thirty-six chocolates total made up the night sky, Draco in the center. (Draco had to be in the center or else the little shit would probably send it back.)

He could hear Monty moving around upstairs as he gingerly transferred each truffle into a large, flat, specially-insulated gift box. He had to force himself to stop fiddling with the particular arrangement of each piece - after a sleepless night and with his hip now boiling in pain, his hands weren't so steady anymore and he was just going to ruin things.

Monty thumped down the stairs and the kitchen door opened just as he put the lid on the box and motioned Anne over. Monty obviously hadn't looked over at the shop on his way downstairs, but that was alright...James wanted to see his face when he saw it for the first time!

 ** _What is this?_** Monty asked, tapping the top of the box. James waved him off, worried he would ruin the intricate decoration if he tapped too hard.

 **_For M-A-L-F-O-Y_** , he explained. Monty froze and James rolled his eyes, realizing his mistake. Honestly, Monty just _had_ to get over this.

With a scowl, Monty tore off the lid and James sent him a warning look.

"What's all that then?" he grunted, pointing at the series of white dots. Nevermind the perfectly tempered chocolate on every single shining truffle, which was bloody difficult to do, thank you...

 **_Stars_** , he said. **_C-O-N-S-T-E-L-L-A-T-I-O-N-S._ **

Monty didn't say anything and James wasn't sure what to think about that. He chose to take it as a good sign, or at least not a bad one. He flipped open his astronomy textbook and found Draco, pointing between it and the perfect chocolate replica. Monty didn't say anything and James found more constellations in the book, pointing to their counterparts in the box. It wasn't just a matter of freehanding the decorations; he had to break out the waxed grid paper to properly enlarge the constellations while maintaining the scale. A whole hour of trial and error while keeping a close watch on the temper of the dark chocolate. Malfoy would be happy and Monty would see what a good friend the pointy git could be when he wasn't being difficult -

"James...what the fuck are ye playin' at?"

James's head jerked up in surprise. The way Monty was staring at him - he looked betrayed.

**_What?_ **

"Are ye foolin' round wae Malfoy?" he barked. James gritted his teeth. Not this shit, not after the hours he spent breaking his back to transform his shop, not today!

**_No!_ **

"Then what is this?!"

**_Gift._ **

"This is more than a - " Monty broke off with a snarl and James waited for him to finish. _Go on. Talk, you wanker!_ "Yer foolin' round, aren't ye?! No one jus' - no one invites their therapist to a game, James! A woke up at midnight an' ye were gone. You've been up all fuckin' night workin' on a little _gift_ fer yer little _blond_ _fuck buddy_ , eh?!"

James had never heard Monty like this. His voice, always loud but warm, was scratchy and hoarse. He was laying into the swears like they were fuel, like they were weapons.

 ** _You do not trust me,_** James signed, not knowing how else to respond. Of course he wasn't cheating. The idea was laughable but James had never felt further from laughing.

"A cannae trust Malfoy no' tae mess wae yer head!" Monty screeched, tapping James on the forehead. James reared back from his touch, thinking he might bite the stupid sod if he tried that again. "A though' a trusted ye, James, a really though' a could! But this is - what the hell am a supposed tae think? Ye wouldn' make somethin' like this fer Ron or Hermione! No' even me!"

 ** _You like stars?_** James asked sarcastically as he reclosed the box and began to tie it up with twine. Anne ruffled her feathers, eyeing Monty in reproach, but stuck out her leg to carry the box.

"Yer no' sending that tae him," Monty growled.

**_I am._ **

"Yer no' sending gifts tae yer lover, not under my roof!"

 **_Our roof_** , James reminded him spitefully as he carried Anne and the box over to the window. The anger in his chest and the pain in his hip was making him nauseous. He hated this, he hated it so much, he was never right even when Monty was wrong and he just wanted this shit to _stop!_

"James - " Monty's voice broke off in a tearful squeak.

James let Anne out the window and turned around, expecting to feel a familiar rage, expecting to fight it out and rip Monty a new one, maybe throw some things. But upon seeing Monty's heartbroken face, James suddenly felt all the anger drain out of him. He _wanted_ to feel angry. He wanted that rage, or even a bit of sympathy for his idiot boyfriend, but...he just felt gutted instead. He felt the way Monty sounded. Scratchy and hollow.

Heavily favoring his hip and feeling his own face grow more pale with every step, James limped from the room and hauled himself upstairs.

An hour later, after a bath and a dose, James emerged from the loo just in time to hear Monty start up the stairs. He hurried into the bedroom, feeling achy and tired down to his core, wanting none of what Monty had to say. He eased the door shut and retrieved his wand just in time.

 _Colloportus,_ he thought clearly, jabbing the wand forward. The door sealed with a squelching sound and James heard Monty hurry over.

"James?" he called, testing the handle. It didn't budge. James tossed the wand back in his sock drawer and climbed into bed. "James, please..."

Monty sounded tearful and he felt a spark of anger return to him. Good. James certainly had no energy to summon any tears, so let the wanker cry instead. He threw himself down onto his pillow and faced away from the door, hoping sleep would take him away from this.

"Am sorry..." Monty said. It sounded as if he was pressing his face right up against the wood of the door. "A saw the shop, it looks… Jaybird, it looks incredible. Am sorry, a jus' - a jus' worry about ye. Dinnae wan' ye tae be taken advantage of. Doctors aren' s'posed tae get close tae their patients like that fer a reason, ye know, it's no' right."

James folded his pillow over his ears, feeling the hot anger in his chest begin to grow. He couldn't fight about this with Monty anymore - the man would have to come to his senses at some point. Malfoy wasn't even his Healer anymore, he was just a friend! Why couldn't he have friends?!

As if reading his thoughts, Monty went on: "A dinnae mean to cut ye off from folks. Ye deserve yer own friends. A jus' think maybe married couples won' be as like tae take advantage, ye know?" Though muffled through the pillow, the words came through and sent James spluttering. "Harry Potter is famous, like it'r no', an' the whole world wants a piece o' ye now. When a saw all tha' work ye put intae that...that gift fer Malfoy, am sorry James, a lost it. A know yer better 'an that, yer no' the sort tae...well, ye know."

James felt the pressure in his heart ease momentarily, but then Monty continued.

"But a cannae trust Malfoy."

James threw the pillow across the room and dragged himself out of bed again. He tried the door, then had to turn around and retrieve his wand to unlock it. He swung the door open and came face to teary face with Monty.

 **_Simple_** , James said, launching into it before he could rethink his strategy. If he just said it, if he just got it out there, things might click. Things would go back to how they were - no, they would get better. He and Monty would learn how to manage a confectionary shop together and he and Malfoy would be friends.

 ** _Simple,_** Monty repeated attentively.

**_Do you trust me?_ **

Monty nodded without hesitation.

 **_Show me. Trust me when I am with M-A-L-F-O-Y._ ** James could already see the panic in Monty's eyes and he gave him a sharp look. **_Do you trust me?_ **

Monty hesitated this time and James wanted to throttle him.

 ** _Simple!_** he reminded him. This didn't have to be complicated. Grey areas were tricky, but surely this was a black and white issue.

 ** _Yes,_** Monty nodded slowly, pasting a determined mask over his trepidation.

James didn't quite believe him. He thought it might be worse the next time it came up but he was exhausted and couldn't deal with anything more than a simple yes or no right now. This would have to do. He nodded and turned to go back to bed when Monty touched his arm.

 ** _I am sorry,_** he signed. **_Shop looks beautiful. Thank you._**

James swallowed and wished he could feel as happy as he thought he would when he was imagining Monty's reaction to the surprise. He thought he would soak up Monty's joy and carry it with him to Christmas, when the boys came home. Instead, it felt like a cheap consolation prize after a stupid row in which nobody won.

He gave a weak smile and let Monty help him back into bed.

* * *

 

**December 6th, 2010: Monday**

Scorpius was mortified. Daddy received a gift by post that morning, one that was apparently so perfect it left him gaping, stuttering, and smiling like Scorpius had never seen before. Breakfast turned into an interrogation and Scorpius learned the gift was from Mr. Charming, the kind but quiet raggabrash who had taken them out for a Quidditch match a couple months ago.

It wasn't the gift that sent Scorpius into hysterics, however, but rather Daddy's atrocious lack of manners. Scorpius himself had seen the pristine chocolates, had spotted his own constellation near the Draco truffles. He had witnessed Daddy's joy and utter captivation with the gift. And then he watched, mortified, as Daddy hid the chocolates away and left for work without sitting down in his home office to quill a proper thank you note.

The absolute cad!

Scorpius clamored up into the office chair and stood on his knees to reach the desk. He pulled a piece of his father's finest stationery close and began to write. He chose to use the special purple ink to make up for the delay. Not because it was pretty.

* * *

 

_Mr. ChArming_

_ThAnk you for the chokolets. I Am very hAppy so I forgot to rite A thAnk you note At first but then I remember. Wil you ples come for teA?_

_Love  
_ _DAddy_

* * *

 

_Mr. Charming,_

_Thank you for the chocolates. I admit that I have never seen such a fine presentation, though I am certain it had much to do with the top-rate constellations with which you chose to work. Please accept my deepest gratitude._

_Sincerely,  
_ _D. Malfoy_

* * *

 

**December 7th, 2010: Tuesday**

Monty scowled at the letters that James had received yesterday, one in the morning, the other around lunchtime. Two letters that were now proudly displayed on the fridge. _Their_ fridge. It was hard to hate the little squirt's forgery, but he could at least resent the excessively high quality of the stationary. And while the parchment from Malfoy's St. Mungo's office was much more modest, Monty still wanted to pitch it into the oven and call it a day.

 _Trust him_. He was meant to trust James, but the sight of his little bird fluttering around in a tizzy all of yesterday and today was driving Monty up the wall. He kept smiling for no reason. Well, obviously for a reason, but no reason he had any business smiling at if Monty was meant to be trusting him.

Why was James doing this to him? Was he not enough? He was human, he made mistakes, and yes, he was prone to jealousy…but this went beyond his control. There was _something_ going on here, even if James refused to acknowledge it. He may not have even recognized it, always seeing the good in people. But Draco Malfoy would make his move soon. Being James's Mind Healer, the prat would know just how to manipulate him into getting what he wanted.

Those letters were taunting him.

James bumped him playfully and Monty wrenched his gaze away from the fridge to stare at the man. He was in a better mood today, thank fuck for small mercies. Monty had never before seen him shut down the way he did yesterday morning, after Monty went and cocked up a sweet surprise. He did feel bad for the way things went down, for the accusations he hurled blindly at James, but he also felt they had glossed over the core of the issue. He had promised to trust him, but James wouldn't even consider his side. He just needed James to see things from his side properly instead of chalking it all up to a caveman complex.

He returned James's smile weakly before his eyes flicked back to the fridge. James caught his gaze and put on his trademark warning glare. With a surge of annoyance, Monty scowled at James instead of the letters and stepped around him to check on the batter swirling away in the stand mixer.

He felt James's eyes burning into his back and he slapped the stand mixer back on, setting it on high. The loud whirring sound cut into the radio that was playing another damn car commercial, the loud one with the nasally English voice that reminded Monty of - surprise surprise - that posh Malfoy twat.

It was a combination of things that set him off.

Looking back later, Monty could narrow it down to several triggers: the obnoxious car commercial blaring away instead of music; James coming to a dead stop in the kitchen when there was plenty of work to be done, for the sake of watching Monty like a hawk; finally, the burned and ruined cake he salvaged from the oven after spending far too long minding the batter that was in the mixer, just to avoid facing James.

Monty felt something in himself snap. Like an out-of-body experience, he watched himself hurl the ruined cake at the wall. He saw the hot pan clatter to the floor and burnt bread crumble to bits which flew across the polished tiles. He heard himself scream at James, blaming him for the ruined cake _and_ the overworked batter. His mouth was screeching on autopilot as he laid into him for tracking his every move rather than returning a bit of that blind trust he was demanding.

He watched James back up several paces and go for his wand on instinct.

Temper or no temper, he knew, even as it was happening, that he was crossing some sort of line when he stormed over and wrenched the stick out of James's white-knuckle grip, flinging it into the far corner. James remained frozen on the spot while Monty went on, throwing every word he had in the hope that something would get across to his brick-wall of a boyfriend that had refused to listen to him these last couple months. There were words that may have belonged in a proper, less shouty row: _paranoid_ , _suspicious_ , and _hypocrite_. Words he should have reconsidered: _desperate_ , _easy_ , and _selfish_. And then more words came out of his mouth, ones that he had no business screaming at James, or anyone, but which escaped him when James kept staring at him with wide, blank eyes: _Gullible_. _Pathetic_. And _stupid_.

That last one got through. Just for a moment, it broke through that blank face and lit a fire in James's eyes. Just for a moment, Monty was sure that they would fight this out properly and James might be arsed to see someone else's side for once. But then he shut down, as he had yesterday. He snatched up his cane, leaving his wand behind, and retreated upstairs.

Monty was left alone in the kitchen with a crumbly mess on the floor and another commercial break on the radio.

* * *

 

**December 8th, 2010: Wednesday**

James moved to the sofa last night and had no intention of going back to bed with Monty anytime soon, no matter how many times the man apologized. He was apologizing for the wrong things anyway. He was sorry for screaming, for saying certain things, but not for...for whatever it was that happened yesterday. James had never seen Monty like that. It was _scary_ to see his warm and loving Monty morph into...that. James had whipped out his wand and then couldn't even think of a spell to use; the sight of Monty advancing on him was so incongruous with his memories of magic that he just froze up. And _that_ was scary.

He heard that Gryffindors were supposed to be brave and courageous, but he must have left that part of himself behind with Harry Potter. James Charming felt very small. Useless. And yes, stupid. Monty said that James didn't trust him. And if he was a hypocrite, like Monty said, then he would have to consider everything else Monty had accused him of. Maybe he _was_ desperate and easy. Why else would he be pining after someone who kept pushing him away? And Hermione had already convinced him of his selfishness, though he was working on that. Monty had a knack for reading people and he said James was gullible for trusting Malfoy; he said James was pathetic. He said he was stupid.

And James's wand was still abandoned in the kitchen after he was pathetic and stupid enough to be disarmed.

 ** _What do you want from me?_** Monty signed as James unlocked the front door for the day.

 ** _Nothing._** He wasn't even sure Monty was wrong anymore, though he could have done without the mild cardiac episode.

**_Sorry._ **

**_I know._ **

**_How do I fix this?_ **

**_Do not know._ **

Monty stared at him helplessly and James refused to meet his eyes. He perched on the stool behind the register and resigned himself to minding the counter this week. Monty had to create an entire inventory of baked goods, after all, so he had priority access to the kitchen.

 **_You should eat_** , Monty said with a frown, passing him a muffin from one of the displays. **_You did not eat breakfast. Eleven o'clock._ ** James shoved it back across the counter. He wasn't hungry and he didn't want his damn muffin. Monty's frown deepened. **_Let's talk._ **

_Let's not,_ James seethed internally. He didn't want to talk about this, about how wrong he was and how right Monty was, even though Monty was the one terrorizing their kitchen. He didn't think he was being unreasonable, wanting a friend he could claim for his own, wanting Monty to trust his judgment. But he had a feeling that somehow he was in the wrong, even if he couldn't work out exactly why. He didn't think he could take another round of Monty screaming horrible things at him, especially since those things were starting to ring true.

 **_You always fight_** , Monty insisted. James heard the door open and close, saw a young woman in a suit nod a greeting in their direction before browsing the selection.

 **_Do not want to fight_** , he said. _I'd like to hex you a bit_ , he thought.

 **_Because you do not care_** , he huffed. James shook his head but the unconscious little shrug he added did nothing for his defense. James was glad that Monty had his back to their lone customer so she couldn't see his sour expression.

 **_Need time to think_** , James reasoned. **_Need space._ **

**_You will not fight because you do not care,_** Monty said again. **_You will stop eating and sleeping. Again. Do not do this to me. I am trying. I love you._**

He was at a loss as to what he could say. Who was supposed to apologize here? Who was the victim? He knew the man was out of control yesterday, he knew it wasn't right for Monty to treat anyone like that, much less his boyfriend. But he also knew there was an undercurrent of truth to what had been said. A strong undercurrent. The guilt was churning his stomach and yet he still didn't feel right about apologizing. Or about forgiving.

 ** _Tired,_** he said. It wasn't a lie. He hadn't slept last night, tucked up on the sofa. His eyes were itchy and his heart was heavy.

**_Do you forgive me?_ **

How could he possibly answer that? ‘ _Yes, love, of course, feel free to sling verbal abuse anytime you catch me watching you make a passive aggressive fuss, that's totally reasonable.’_ Or ‘ _No, you brute, I won't forgive you, how dare you raise some painfully accurate points about how I've been treating you?’_

His sarcasm never translated as well as Monty's when he signed so he decided to keep things neutral.

 ** _Tired,_** he said again. **_Talk later._**

**_When?_ **

**_After boys._ ** Al and Ar were coming home in a couple weeks. They could push this off until after the holidays. Until then… **_Pretend it never happened._ **

Monty looked less than pleased with this brilliant plan, but he nodded grimly.

 **_You will come back to bed?_ ** he asked.

James shook his head firmly. No, he most certainly would not share a bed with him. Not until he figured some things out. Not until he'd had some _space_ to figure things out.

 **_I will sleep on the sofa_** , Monty decided. James went to protest but he was waved down. **_Sofa is bad for your hip._ **

Normally he would have argued, he would have said he was fine and he didn't need his help, and fuck off for offering. But today he relented with a sigh and a stiff nod. _Whatever it takes to get some space,_ he thought bitterly. Monty went into the back to bake and James stood to ring up the customer.

* * *

 

**December 9th, 2010: Thursday**

Draco had eaten far too much chocolate since Monday. He felt sloppy and sluggish with sugar but his notes were meticulous when he transcribed them carefully into an artful letter. Charming had trusted him once before to review a batch, and Draco had failed him miserably after upending the box onto the floor during that little hostage situation in October. But this time - oh yes, this time he would show that his opinion mattered more than anyone else's. Draco would not let him down.

He wrote an entire page on the chocolates that made up the Draco constellation. The sweet Hungarian paprika in the ganache had been a shock to his senses but it paired exceedingly well with the dark chocolate shell. The Scorpius constellation, which he generously allowed Scorpius himself to sample, was strange but fitting. Lemon zest was definitely in the hazelnut ganache, and Draco could have sworn he tasted more than a hint of horseradish too. Another astonishing success.

In total, he wrote three pages detailing his opinion on the taste of each constellation, then tacked on another page waxing philosophic about presentation and shine, and in the name of Circe's left tit how did he manage to ship these in a Muggle box without the ganache freezing through?!

Feeling quite good about the week's work, Draco tacked on a post-script:

_PS - If convenient, please send another sample of the Central America Variety Box that came along in October. I was unable to complete my analysis due to spontaneous and traumatic hair loss._

That was as close to an apology as Draco would get after Charming had failed to ask after his hair, the heartless tart. Though he knew he'd treated Charming rather coldly as of late, he still thought it might have been at least half-deserved after the barrage of Potter-y behavior to which Draco had been subjected.

But Potter would never think of something as sweet and clever as this. No, this box was entirely Charming.

* * *

 

It was a combination of things that wore him down.

Looking back later, James could narrow it down to several triggers: the fourth near-sleepless night in a row while he listened to Monty's sniffles and snores from the other room; mindlessly mucking up what must have been a dozen orders that day as he alone worked the counter and tried to keep up with the pre-Christmas crowd; finally, losing his notepad at some point and being unable to adequately mime to the crotchety old woman that he was mute, not rude.

James felt something inside break. He wanted to be better at this, he wanted Monty to come out of the kitchen and help him, he wanted that old woman to stop mean-mugging him through the window while she told anyone who would listen on the sidewalk about the surly foreign man inside who wouldn't deign to speak to her.

He closed the shop an hour early. It would have been two hours early, but he didn't have Monty's booming voice to usher people out so he had to settle for gesturing stupidly at a few customers during a rare lull.

His eyes were crossing as he tried to enter numbers into his accounting book for the day. He'd added new columns for the baked inventory and he hadn't yet gotten the hang of tracking those transactions. The numbers swirled on the page and he slammed the book closed. Sleep was tugging at him but his heart was racing. He couldn't count down the drawer, he wasn't hungry, he didn't want to see Monty. His Inner Dad Voice was telling him he was just cranky, telling him to stop whinging and take a nap, but his Inner Child Voice wanted to throw a spectacular tantrum.

He decided, after much Inner Screaming, to ask Monty for help. The man was technically his employee after all, he could handle counting down the drawer and marking some notes. It took everything he had to sacrifice his pride, creep into the kitchen, and confess.

**_Closed. Can you do the books?_ **

Monty looked alarmed and James couldn't blame him. He never closed early without a damn good reason. And while he'd explained the books before, he had never asked him to do this part.

**_Are you okay?_ **

James didn't have an answer to that. He sank into a chair at the table and nodded pointedly at the door, as if to say, _Get to it, employee._ Monty frowned softly, his eyes going all watery with concern, but then he set a timer for the oven and left. _Thank Merlin. Or someone._

After five minutes of sitting and breathing in utter silence, James was feeling a bit more like himself. He'd had a shit day was all. A shit week, really, following a rough few months. He reminded himself of all the awful things people had said to him in the past, about his skin color, or his cane, or his voice, or even his odd little family. It was all just words, unwarranted opinions from strangers. A teenage Harry Potter had had his name dragged through the mud in the papers, surely James Charming wouldn't let some racist old bint tear him down. He reminded himself that couples fought, relationships weren't perfect, and he and Monty could still work through this.

He ignored the Inner Pessimist Voice that told him they'd been fighting for weeks - months, actually - and nobody else fought quite so often or so viciously. Ron and Hermione certainly didn't. If Dean and Seamus did, they hid it well.

What he needed was an Inner Hermione Voice to tell him what he was doing wrong. Tell him how to mime adequately to idiots in case he lost his fucking notepad again, because apparently pointing at his mouth and throat while shaking his head wasn't enough. He needed that Inner Hermione Voice to tell him what he was doing to push Monty like he was; to tell him how to fix what he had with Monty without sacrificing Malfoy. To tell him he didn't have to choose one or the other.

He was halfway through writing a quick note to invite Hermione out for lunch tomorrow when the letter arrived via eagle owl.

He stared at it dumbly. Four pages, signed D. Malfoy. Each paragraph was a rousing review of the chocolates he'd sent on Monday. From presentation to taste to Shipping & Handling, Malfoy had an opinion on everything.

James screwed up his face and threw his glasses on the table, his vision blurring with tears. Whatever had broken in him earlier was swimming to the surface now as he squinted to read a four page essay on things he had done _right_ for once. Some parts he had to take with a grain of salt; they sounded like Malfoy was just showing off how many words he knew and how many flavors he could recognize. But other parts… James had never felt like this before. He was overwhelmed, even more so than earlier, but it was all good things now. He read and re-read certain parts, the parts that called him Clever and Capable, Discerning and Inventive. Proficient. _Clever_.

When he could no longer read the words through his tears, he clutched the letter tightly and stumbled upstairs to bed. He would have to skip lunch with Hermione tomorrow if he wanted to make a new batch of Central America-themed chocolates for Malfoy. And he very much wanted to.

* * *

 

**December 11th, 2010: Saturday**

It was a combination of things that sent him off the deep end.

Looking back later, Draco could narrow it down to several triggers: Scorpius was with his mother, leaving Draco alone with his parents; Blaise was pining after Greg, who was in hospital, and cursing Nott, whose shop was still under Ministry investigation, leaving Draco alone with his parents; finally, in his infinite Mind Healer wisdom, he was able to acknowledge to himself how much he _didn't_ want to eat dinner alone with his parents.

Draco felt something inside himself light up. He used his best quill, because his fingers deserved the best, and his third-best stationary, because Charming was a civilian chocolatiér and not a foreign dignitary.

Last night, under Scorpius's watchful eye, he had sent a hasty thank you note (on his fourth-best stationary) for the new Central America Variety Box that had arrived around dinnertime. This morning, Draco thought that maybe he should have had this morning's brilliant idea last night, to save on stationary, decorum, words, and yes, a bit of pride. It was not prideful to write a second letter in the span of twelve hours for the sole purpose of inviting oneself over for boozy chocos.

But then again, Charming had claimed last month (and seven times since) that it was an open invitation. Saturday night was boozy chocos night, open invitation, that's what he said, Draco still had the letter in his desk. He could put up with the superfluous Gryffindor garbage for company if it meant he could drag Blaise along and force the funk out of him with chocolates and booze. Depression, not funk. Merlin, he was starting to think like Charming.

If he was honest with himself, which he obstinately was not, he might've had to admit that he missed Charming, in a way. Missed his sass, his comically expressive face, his nervous ticks. The easy way his calloused, scarred, burn-covered hands could form a series of complicated signs like it was nothing, as easy as breathing. How Draco could almost understand what he was saying even without the charm's smokey translation; his expressions and his postures would combine with the more obvious signs to tell Draco what he wanted to say. It was like watching poetry, the way those hands moved. He wanted to see them make chocolate.

That was a much better use of his Saturday night than eating dinner alone with his parents.

It was past lunch when he got Charming's enthusiastic reply, belatedly realized he'd forgotten to invite someone, and had to quill a letter to Blaise. On his fifth-best stationary.

* * *

 

Monty wasn't happy. He wasn't a fine actor either so James knew he wasn't happy, which meant James was tense and ready to bark, which meant Monty was tense and ready to bite.

Malfoy was coming. He was bringing some wizard twit too, hopefully as a date. James had already sent out notes to Ron, Dean, and Seamus to give them a heads up about the incoming Slytherins. Asking them to play nice and not choose this week to cancel. He didn't ask Monty to play nice and not cancel. He _told_ Monty.

 **_M-A-L-F-O-Y is coming tonight_** , he had signed, that challenging spark in his eye that told Monty he was ready to fight again. Because of course he was, when _Malfoy's_ feelings were on the line. Monty's feelings weren't even worth a discussion. **_You trust me? Prove it._ **

Monty had nodded at the time, like an idiot, thinking he would prove something to James. He would prove that Malfoy was up to no good, that James was flirting back, that Muggle music was better than the Wizarding Wireless rubbish that Ron kept carting in every week! He would prove to James that he knew a thing or two, even if magic wasn't his world. He would gain James's trust back, if he'd ever had it.

* * *

 

As an Auror, Ron was a keen observer of human behavior. He could see that, throughout the night, Harry was nervous and jittery, excited and jittery, frustrated and jittery, and a bit jittery. Ron could see that he was trying very hard to make it look like he was not watching Monty like a hawk throughout the night, and coincidentally that's what Monty seemed to be watching Harry for. Watching him to make sure he wasn't watching him watching.

Ron also saw that Harry had sampled too much of the coffee cake, which was criminally delicious, a possible source of the jitters, and apparently Harry's new favorite food. Which Monty may or may not have (but definitely had) noticed. The Scottish man, Ron observed, took great pride in offering everyone a piece except Malfoy, who couldn't seem to care less. Blaise and Dean hit it off right away while Seamus attempted to rekindle his easy friendship with Monty, who was much too distracted to notice.

Monty was distracted because Harry was spending an awful lot of time signing in the corner with Draco, who would hardly read the translation before launching into his own cheeky monologue.

Harry and Monty had written once or twice on the Malfoy Mess. Monty was jealous of Harry's attention, Harry was feeling simultaneously lonely and smothered (though Ron had required Hermione to crack that code because Harry was still rubbish at expressing himself, even on paper). Ron and Hermione both thought they were being dramatic and uncommunicative, but now Ron could sort of see what Harry was talking about:

Monty tracked his every move. He stretched over James's reaching hands to pull down the hanging pots, he wouldn't let him stoop down to put a tray of warm chocolates on the bottom shelf of the cold box, he even pressed Harry down into a chair in the middle of his animated conversation with Malfoy. Harry hardly seemed to notice, except for the odd scowl or eye-roll, which told Ron all he needed to know about how common this was.

The old Harry Potter would've put the overbearing man in a Body Bind and left him in the pantry by now.

On the other hand, Monty's complaints weren't entirely unfounded. Harry was spending all his time with Malfoy, which was a sight he never thought to see. Ron knew better than anyone how much of a prat Harry could be sometimes and tonight he was showing his finest passive aggressive moves. He hardly replied to Monty's conversation starters, and when he did, he pointedly dragged Malfoy into the discussion. It was as if he wanted to intentionally test Monty's patience.

All in all, with the added Slytherin company, things were a bit strange tonight. Blaise matched Seamus one-to-one on shots of exotic spirits, which sent little Seamus babbling all night and left Blaise standing suspiciously still. Dean was poking through the comics, sketchbooks, and coloring pages stacked up on the kitchen table. Harry and Malfoy were seated on the other end in a heated discussion on something he couldn't read in the translation from across the room - if Ron's knowledge of sign language could be trusted, it was about either plumbing or footwear. And Ron was pretending to talk to Monty who was pretending to listen while he peeled the label off a bottle of Ogden's and watched Harry.

Bit strange, overall.

* * *

 

James's heart was full and his stomach warm when they locked up that night and trudged up the stairs. He hardly noticed the pain in his hip and he wasn't nearly buzzed enough to credit the alcohol. No, he chalked it up to a near perfect night. For once. After months of stress, weeks of fighting, days of pushing each other to the edge, he felt content and at ease and his hip was granting him a pass for it.

He was proud of Monty. Sure, he was a bit stiff tonight, not his usual friendly self, and he had a brief row with Ron's portable Wireless. And yeah, there were a few embarrassing moments - one incident with the chair that left James mortified - but overall, he didn't stick to his side like glue, didn't pick a fight with Malfoy, didn't even sulk upstairs like James suspected he might. He was coming around. The rush of hope he felt at that realization told James that perhaps he had been far more concerned about their relationship than he had even admitted to himself. He was well and truly hopeful that this was the first solid step toward working past Monty's control issues.

Heart light and hip barely thrumming, James turned in the hall as Monty started to pull away to go to the sofa. He touched the man's arm and nodded to the bedroom door. The only way to make things more perfect would be to curl up together tonight and open the shop late tomorrow. He smiled in invitation, but Monty didn't meet his eye.

Monty pulled away and went to the sofa.

* * *

 

**December 13th, 2010: Monday**

Monty left James alone on their day off. He had a load of Christmas shopping to get done, but more than that, he didn't think he could bear to be around him right now. He wanted to scream more horrible words, to shake some sense into the man, to replay Saturday night and show James what an utter _slag_ he had been.

Unbelievable, that James assumed he would come back to bed now after he spent six hours lounging in the kitchen with Malfoy. He and Malfoy were arguing about _toilets_ half the night, for shit's sake, but James couldn't spare Monty half an hour last week to hash out their own issues? They might as well have fed each other grapes off the stem with the way James was hanging onto every over-pronounced, multi-syllabic, posh cunty word from Malfoy's mouth. It made Monty sick to his stomach.

He had found the proof he was looking for, but he didn't feel any better for it. Holiday shopping would help put a spring in his step again. He couldn't concede to James on the Malfoy issue, not after what he'd seen Saturday, but he could still show James a better Monty. A more committed Monty. He could show James their future, hand it to him on a silver platter so all he had to do was unwrap it Christmas morning and let Monty do the rest.

In a massive bookshop on the other end of town, he found an extensive business section. He spent nearly an hour roaming the aisles and pulling down books on entrepreneurial ventures and small businesses, accounting, even contracting and renovating.

He had his evidence and by that afternoon, he had a plan. Hermione was right, James would just dig in his heels if Monty pushed him - on anything. If he tried to force Malfoy out, he would cling even harder to the git. If he brought up the bakery extension again too soon, James would panic and find any reason to claim they weren't ready. Monty would read up on how to run a business, he would study hard and come up with a serious co-owning model they could pursue together. If he kept the stress off of James, if he himself shouldered all the work and revealed his grand plan with all the little pieces already worked out, then James would give him a chance.

Just like before, when he spent years wooing and chasing his little bird, Monty knew they could build a future together if he only laid the groundwork.

* * *

 

_Draco,_

_Thanks for coming over Saturday, hope it was all you ever dreamed! Is hangover potion yellow? Blaise said he'd leave some and there is a vial on the counter but it's not labeled. Don't need it anyway but I might could use it next time. Boys are in Friday afternoon so no booze this week but you're welcome to bring Scorpius by. We'll bring Rose Weasley-Granger over to keep him company._

_James_

* * *

 

_James,_

_Have you always been such an abysmal host? A torn off sheet of Muggle notebook paper with a suspicious brown smudge in the corner is not a proper invitation. Scorpius would be delighted to share his formal invitations with you if you're willing to sit through a much needed etiquette lesson._

_Draco_

_PS - Did you not nearly die week before last after ingesting tampered potions? Don't drink that, you lunatic._

* * *

 

_Draco,_

_Says the nutter who invited himself over last time. And I run a chocolate shop, what on earth do you think the brown smudge could be?_

_James_

_PS - I'll save it for your tea._

* * *

 

_James,_

_You said open invitation. And it's shit, isn't it?_

_Draco_

* * *

 

_Draco,_

_What can I say, my toilet broke and I had to get creative._

_James_

* * *

 

**December 17th, 2010: Friday**

Alec stormed up the stairs with his brother hot on his heels. Leonard darted past and he only threw himself into the wall a little bit to avoid her. He was getting better with cats, or at least with Leo.

"Oi, what's this?" Arty asked with a laugh, taking in the sight of the sitting room. The old sofa sat low to the ground as always. But now there were pillows on one end and blankets piled up over the cushions. A new quilt covered the back.

"Mrs. Weasley gave us that," Monty answered gruffly, gesturing to the quilt as Dad levitated their trunks down the hall.

"But why's it all made up like this?" Alec pressed. "Who's been kippin' out here?" Monty's eyes darted to the hall where Dad had disappeared for the moment.

"Yer da' an' I've been building forts all year while you've been away," he said loudly. A thumping sound came from the boys' bedroom; did Dad drop a trunk? "Movies and popcorn, Doctor Who every night in our fort," he went on, practically shouting. Alec frowned at him in suspicion.

"You an' Dad watched Doctor Who?" he said incredulously. "Without me?"

"Jus' the reruns," Monty answered with a wink. Which meant no, they hadn't. They weren'treally into the show, not like Alec was. Surely they wouldn't bother with it while he was gone. So who was sleeping on the sofa? "Yep, we stay up every night watchin' trash telly an' tellin' each other ghost stories, it's been a riot without you two!"

"There are ghosts at Hogwarts!" Arthur blurted out as Dad joined them, and the subject of the sofa was forgotten in favor of their school adventures.

* * *

 

**December 18th, 2010: Saturday Night**

Monty was forced to wait until midnight, when he was sure the boys were finally asleep, before he could lie down and doze. James had invited him back to their bedroom again after their latest Saturday night chocolate binge, as if Monty had forgotten about all those other invitations. But he was no turkey. If he gave in now, if he surrendered this battle, he'd lose the war. Better to let James miss him a bit.

Of course, James was probably just worried the boys would figure out that something was wrong. And as much as Monty knew Alec and Arthur would have his back and might be able to talk some sense into their stubborn dad, he would never try to turn them against James. That wasn't playing fair, for James or the kiddos.

So Monty played along and watched the telly on low volume, insisting to Alec that he just wanted to finish this program and then he'd be off to bed, just like he had last night.

Midnight came and went, the boys were down, Monty was lying back against the pillows, but still he couldn't sleep. Malfoy had come over again that evening and he'd brought his son Scorpius. Hermione, Ron, Rose, and even little Hugo rounded out their party. Monty was a sucker for kids and spent much of his time listening to little Scorpius critique their cutlery while Rose practiced her signs for kitchen-nouns.

He'd hoped that Alec and Arthur might see Malfoy for the creep he was, might then get their dad to listen to reason, but they were nearly as smitten as James. Malfoy charmed them with tales of the idiot hero Harry Potter, who bumbled his way into random acts of gallantry. James took it all good-naturedly, just as he did when Arthur started up on some of his favorite stories about James, which sent Malfoy into ridiculous, breathless giggles.

With his boys home and James's smile reaching his eyes again - not just when he was chatting with Malfoy - Monty grudgingly admitted to himself that it was a wholesome night...even if it _was_ tainted by the pointy git's presence.

* * *

 

**December 20th, 2010: Monday**

James couldn't remember when he'd been suffused with such energy. The boys were back home, Monty was still stubborn but at least quiet about it, Draco had joined them again on Saturday - without Blaise this time! Not that James had anything against Blaise. But like a security blanket, it was a big deal to leave behind the implied "plus-one" on the invitation. _And_ he'd started calling him James. Not Harry. Not jaybird. Not Mr. Charming. _James_. He felt at home with that name - he'd always liked it, ever since he spotted it on the long list of names at the hospital. It was yet another big deal to hear _James_ in Draco's mouth. For some reason.

Susan Bones had arrived that Monday morning to deliver her nephew Robert, and she and James spent the morning catching up while Monty entertained the boys. She worked for the Ministry now, following her aunt's footsteps, and seemed extremely sympathetic to the werewolf issues that James was pursuing. She was brilliant, really, she knew the ins and outs, who to charm and who to call out. James was able to mark down plenty of notes to go over with Hermione later.

The problem he faced now was getting Monty to come back into the bedroom. It seemed that James couldn't get any space from him except for the once bit of space he wanted to close, especially now that the boys were back.

 **_You gave them the idea_** , he insisted that evening as they washed up after dinner. The boys were bouncing around upstairs, causing the ceiling to shake. James was grateful for that brilliant _Muffliato_ spell, which was a game changer as a parent.

 ** _You want space,_** Monty signed, shrugging without a care. James ground his teeth together.

 ** _They will want to build a fort,_** he said.

He knew they would ever since Monty blurted it out on Friday. They used to make blanket forts all the time. It started as necessity - the studio flat was all he could afford when he first started at the bakery. A new blanket fort every night wasn't nearly as pathetic as kipping in the same bed, and they got quite good at making them. But then he started operating the mail-order system out of the studio in addition to his bakery hours, and they were able to move into a two-bedroom flat, and the forts tapered off. Then they got the shop with the flat above, and then Monty eventually moved in, and then James and Monty started having issues, and then finally Monty decided to wage a delicate war over sofa territory.

 **_You want me in the bedroom because they want the living room?_ ** Monty asked.

 ** _Yes,_** James conceded. At this point, yes, that was the only reason he wanted this stubborn man back in his bed. **_I can sleep on the floor,_** he offered. Monty's eyes looked ready to pop out of his head.

**_No!_ **

**_What do you want?_** James asked. It wasn't lost on him that just a couple weeks ago, Monty had been begging the same question of him. He had asked for space.

**_Want to fight._ **

**_Argue?_ **

**_Yes._ **

**_After Alexander and Arthur go back to school,_** James sighed. That was another thing they'd agreed on two weeks ago - they wouldn't dig themselves any deeper until after the holidays.

**_Want to fight now. Do not want the bed._ **

**_No._ **

**_Do not want the bed until we fix this. You want space._ **

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it on end. **_I want a good holiday for the boys,_** he signed desperately. **_Do not worry them._**

**_I am not the problem._ **

James spluttered at that. He absolutely _was_ the problem, the bullheaded arse!

 ** _What do you want to fight about?_** he asked carefully, dreading the answer. There were so many things, so many issues pulling them apart at the seams, he didn't even know where to start -

**_M-A-L-F-O-Y._ **

Not there, definitely not.

 **_No_** , he said shortly.

 **_Listen to me_** , Monty pleaded, eyes wide. But James knew he could turn in a second. Malfoy made Monty...not-Monty. **_You cannot trust him. He will manipulate you._ **

**_You manipulate me,_** James's hands blurted out before he could think. Monty blinked dumbly at him and after a moment, James decided to go on. He was in too deep anyway. **_You are holding the boys hostage. If you stay on the sofa, they will know we are fighting. You will ruin holiday, blame me._**

Monty was stunned into stillness and James could feel his heart pounding wildly, his pulse fluttering in his neck. This...this felt like a big deal. Bigger than anything else he'd said to Monty. Almost without conscious thought, his hands went on signing:

 ** _You give me projects to distract me from M-A-L-F-O-Y,_** he said, only just fully realizing the truth in his own words. **_Werewolf rights. Bakery._**

 **_You need to be busy -_ ** Monty started slowly, but James cut him off.

**_You do not want me to have single friends._ **

**_Married friends are stable -_ **

**_No friends before this year, not allowed,_** he continued, a hollow feeling in his stomach. A thump on the ceiling over his head told him the boys were still rough housing, but he barely registered it. **_You only allowed Harry's friends. Married friends._**

 **_Lupin is not married,_ ** Monty contested hotly.

 ** _You think they are safe if you can show them how good you are for me,_** James said without hesitation. Things were clicking into place for him. The sofa battle was surprisingly infuriating and now he knew why...it was just the latest in an endless pattern. **_You feel safe if you control what they see._**

Monty stared at him like he was insane.

 ** _You could not control what M-A-L-F-O-Y saw._** That was why Monty pitched a royal fit when James stopped bringing him along to therapy. Merlin. Things were making sense for the first time in _months_ and James started to feel a bit more sane.

 ** _I love you,_** Monty protested, still staring at him like he'd grown an extra head that had started babbling in tongues. **_M wants you but I love you._**

This was the core of their issues, of their constant bickering. Monty didn't just love him, he _needed_ him. Every bit of him. And he couldn't have that unless he had control.

There was a long pause; it must have felt excruciating to Monty, if his pained expression was anything to go by. But James could almost see a new light shining. If he could identify the problem, he could fight it. He could win this war. He'd like to take Monty along with him to victory, but the man would have to get on board. To get him on board, James had to give him some space tonight.

 ** _You take the bed,_** he signed gently, letting his eyes soften a bit. **_I am not tired._**

* * *

 

Monty felt properly dazed for the first time since he and his sister had lost their parents, nearly ten years ago. James's words were ringing in his mind. Not once had he accused him of jealousy, like he usually did. Now it was control. James saw him as an evil puppet master, pulling the strings of his life. Driving people away, manipulating how others saw them, deliberately distracting James from - okay, that one was true, but it was in James's best interest! James needed to stay busy, even if he tended to self-destruct under certain types of pressure, and Monty was only trying to help.

Was it a crime to help the people he loved?

He bid goodnight to the boys and turned in early, sloughing off his shoes and throwing himself diagonally across the bed he hadn't been in for weeks. Pressing his face into the pillows, he breathed in the scent of James. His jaybird. He curled up with the pillow, longing for the days before all this magic nonsense, when James could still see the good in him, when -

His hand brushed against something stiff in the pillowcase and he sat up to investigate. He tipped the pillow vertical, shaking it out, and a small packet fell out.

_Mr. Charming,_

_These chocolates are as divine and celestial as the Draco constellation itself, in all its glorious..._

Monty's heart dropped low into his belly as he read on. Four pages. James had been sleeping with a four page Ode to Romantic Chocolates from his blond whore. Four pages, tucked under his pillow like a little schoolgirl. And _Monty_ was the bastard?

The dazed feeling from earlier washed away as something much heavier took its place.

* * *

 

Arthur creeped down the stairs and pushed the kitchen door open, only to find the light on and Dad at the stove, idly stirring something in a tall pot. Part of him knew he was caught, but the other part wondered what the hell he was idly stirring in the stainless steel pot that was reserved only for chocolate because it certainly couldn't be chocolate. Dad never tended his chocolate absentmindedly.

Arthur caught his Dad's attention and simply signed, **_What?_** He nodded to the hob.

Dad looked down and then back up, smirking knowingly. Instead of answering, he offered him the ladle. Warm brown goop was dripping from the spoon and Arthur raced forward to take a sip. _Yes!_ Even better than not being in trouble for being out of bed past midnight, Dad was making a whole pot of his famous hot cocoa! He'd missed it this year; it was a winter tradition at Charming Chocolates for the boys to run the hot pots on the sidewalk for a few hours on weekends, giving out free cocoa and bringing in new customers. They'd been too busy so far.

 ** _Mugs, marshmallows,_** Dad ordered, giving the pot another stir. Arthur raced around the kitchen and collected everything onto a tray to bring upstairs to the others. **_Do not wake Monty._** Arthur nodded conspiratorially and Dad levitated the pot, picked up his cane, and together they creeped back upstairs.

For the first time in years, they made a blanket fort in the living room. Dad even used magic to enlarge one of the blankets, floating it high overhead so it felt more like a blanket castle. Robert was appropriately enthused over the hot cocoa and Alec, delirious with sugar and no sleep, even summoned the courage to feed a soaked marshmallow to Leonard.

Arthur drifted off around the time the Doctor reunited with the TARDIS and took off into another dimension or whatever.

* * *

 

**December 23rd, 2010: Thursday**

It had been three-and-a-half days since James's kitchen revelation. Two nights of sleeping in the kitchen with the door locked so that no underage midnight snackers would catch on. Cushioning charms could only do so much to soften the wooden table, however, and now his back was in serious competition with his hip. He could hardly keep up with the boys that day, though he'd managed to keep them occupied in the kitchen while Monty worked the counter.

Today was Robert's last day and James would be a little glad to see him go in the morning. He loved kids - loved Rose, Hugo, Scorpius, and even quiet Robert who stared too much, blinked too little, and spoke in a monotone that rivaled the beta voice-box Alec had tried on him last year. But he wanted to spend some time with _his_ kids, and then spend some time alone because they were a lot to handle and he needed a nap. In a proper bed.

He took them all out for lunch while Monty braved the holiday rush alone. He ignored the odd looks at the cafe, letting Alec translate for him at the register, and then took a detour through the park to stall before they had to return to the shop.

Arthur somehow managed to whip out a frisbee from the depths of his trousers.

"Dad, catch!"

James never said no to that and by the time they made it home, he was exhausted and his whole body was screaming. He collapsed in a kitchen chair and summoned his pain potion for a premature dose, resolving to go to sleep early tonight.

Dinner came and went, the boys carried on in their room, and Monty - bless him - jerked his head upstairs, telling him to take the bed. James had hardly exchanged a dozen words with the man since Monday's row, and he wouldn't apologize for what he'd said. But he was so wiped he couldn't even summon up the energy to lament his pride as he half-crawled upstairs. Monty could have this one. James was tired.

But sleep didn't come. He growled silently and shifted on the bed, feeling the ebb and flow of his blood as it clanged around his stiff muscles. There was no pain, after the potion, but there was no sleep either. The boys were rowdy - beyond rowdy, they were practically taking flight. Were they taking flight? Surely not...his Firebolt was locked away in his trunk downstairs.

He heard the bedroom door creak open and rolled over to find Monty peeking in. James grimaced and rolled his eyes as something crashed into the wall they shared with Al and Ar. Monty scowled at the sound and retreated down the hall. James paused.

He heard the boys' door open. _Oh shit._

"Stop yer carryin' on like animals, yer da's tryin' tae sleep!" Monty hissed furiously, his voice carrying into the bedroom. James threw himself out of bed and hurried down the hall without his cane, grabbing Monty by the arm and jerking him out of the boys' room mid-rant.

 ** _Sorry_** , he signed shortly to a shocked Alec. **_Have fun. Goodnight,_** he added before closing their door again. He turned, seething, back to the bedroom and dragged Monty along with him. **_What?_** he asked as soon as the door was closed. **_What are you doing?_**

 ** _You are tired,_** Monty cried, flinging a hand out to the shared wall. **_You need sleep. You are angry._**

 ** _Cranky,_** James corrected. **_Bad mood._**

 ** _Tired, need sleep,_** he said, apparently in full agreement. **_You will feel better if you sleep._** James had a feeling that Monty was tying his bad mood today into his radio silence all week. He wasn't freezing the man out, he was only trying to give him space to think on what he'd said. They would have time to talk it through after Christmas!

 ** _Bad mood today,_** he said as patiently as he could. **_You cannot help. Worse if you ruin tonight for the kids._**

 **_I am helping, trying,_ ** Monty said, brow furrowed, lips pursed tight. **_Trying! Not ruining! I do not ruin everything!_ **

James blanched, feeling something horrible grip him. Something like guilt.

 ** _I love you,_** he said simply. Monty looked at the bed, at James's side. He shook his head.

**_No._ **

He left the room, shutting the door softly.

* * *

 

**December 24th, 2010: Friday**

Robert was gone, the shop was closed, and Monty was ready to have it out. James didn't love him, not anymore. To claim otherwise was cruel, heartless. He was angry. He was hurt. He wasn't even sure he wanted to fix things now, or if he just wanted to lash out.

They trudged upstairs as a unit after a quiet dinner and he sent the boys to their room, only for James to protest. He cut him off and sent them away. He didn't know what was going to be said tonight but he knew he didn't want them around to see it.

Al and Ar left the room slowly but silently, staring with wide eyes as Monty and James glared daggers at each other. As soon as the door closed, James threw his cane in the corner of the living room and started signing.

**_Do not -_ **

**_Do not ruin their night?_** Monty finished for him, snarling. **_Do not ruin things?_** James bit his lip and ducked his head, clearly thinking of a response, but Monty beat him to it. **_You, your bad mood is ruining things._** Dinner was shit. The whole day was shit. The stubborn arse must have slept on the floor because he came out of that bedroom just as tired and cranky in the morning as he had been last night, and it was making everything that much harder on Monty and the boys.

 **_Cannot fix a bad mood_** , James said.

**_You are ruining things. Christmas Eve. Boys home. Shit father._ **

James reared back, eyes wide. Monty stood by what he'd said. The man was being stubborn, was throwing away his family for a blond cock and then turning it around on Monty, as if the man hadn't done enough to keep them going through the years -

**_What_ **

**_Shit father. Shit. Be better._ **

James stared at him in sheer disbelief and Monty let himself ride that awful wave for a moment, the half-guilty, half-satisfied feeling that came from leaning into his petty thoughts.

 ** _You do not love me,_** he carried on.

James said nothing.

**_You love M-A-L-F-O-Y._ **

James blinked rapidly, his mouth fell open, but still he made no attempt to defend himself. Monty scoffed. Seven years. Seven years, down the drain, for a posh fuck.

**_I found the letter under your pillow._ **

James closed his mouth - Monty briefly wondered if it had gone that far, if he'd actually sucked the git's cock - and looked away, his face completely devoid of expression. When he finally answered, he said:

**_Shove it up your arse._ **

He retreated downstairs, leaving Monty to take the bed tonight.

* * *

 

"You go," Alec said, nudging his brother toward the door. "You need to find Leo anyway."

"It's barely 8:30, how's Monty gone to bed already?" Arthur whispered, pressing his face into the crack under the door. He had sworn he saw Monty's steps retreat into the bedroom earlier after Dad went downstairs.

"Go! Before he comes back out!" Alec hauled his brother up and opened the door, shoving him through.

Alec closed the door behind his brother and perched on the stool at his desk, waiting with bated breath. They'd noticed something was off with Monty and Dad lately. They hardly spoke to each other since the boys had come home. And Monty, Arthur pointed out, hadn't touched Dad once all week. Not a hug, not a nudge, not even a friendly pat. Nothing. Something was wrong.

And today, after a meal as stiff and silent as a grave, Monty had sent them straight to bed like they were in trouble. Except Dad was in charge of their discipline, which meant...something significant, he was sure. They weren't in trouble, surely, not even after last night. But it seemed like it. They were banished to their room, no dessert, no telly. No explanation.

Arthur returned after just a few minutes, looking pale.

"I've never seen 'im like that..." he mumbled, sitting dejectedly on his bed. "Somethin's wrong."

"Well, we know that much, Sherlock."

"He wouldn' say what. Just said he an' Monty are goin' through somethin'. Said they're tryin' to work it out but it's just hard cos they're both thick."

"He said that?"

"He said Hermione would say it later so he might as well beat her to it."

They went to bed early that night, but neither managed to fall asleep for several more hours. Alec tried to convince himself that it was just regular Christmas excitement that kept him awake.

* * *

 

**December 25th, 2010: Saturday**

The tree was crammed into the corner of the sitting room between the stuffy old armchair and the boxy old telly. It was a skinny, awkward, artificial thing, but the limbs were so packed full of homemade ornaments and paper tinsel, one could hardly see the fake pine needles anyway. The air freshener that Alec stuffed somewhere into the middle helped a lot too.

Presents were wrapped in varying papers, some brown, some just plain Prophet newspaper, some bright and moving. James didn't bother breaking out a trash bag this year, as he could simply vanish the mess with his wand when it became too much. Magic was great for aesthetics.

Al and Ar sat on their knees next to the tree, folding their feet under their bottoms in a way that only children could do. They were showing off their levitation skills as they passed out the presents. James told them about Ron's well-timed Wingardium Leviosa in their fight against a troll in the bathroom, then immediately regretted it when Arthur told him about a seventh year who was possibly part-troll and _'I bet a floatin' club could take him out, thanks, Da'!'_

When he unwrapped his set of microtools, Alec squealed so loudly the cat took off into another room at high speed. James grinned over at Monty, who offered a wink back at him. Arthur scored a new set of brushes from Dean - who he hadn't met yet - and immediately demanded to go to the gallery the next day for the Sunday workshop.

 **_If they are open_** , James said, nodding. **_Boxing day._ **

The boys saved James's gifts to them for last because they were _'obviously just books,'_ which was true, but James thought they should shut up and give them a shot first. He didn't usually go for books, but it was the only magical gift shopping he could do by mail and he didn't fancy causing another riot in Diagon Alley.

 _"Oi!"_ Alec cooed dramatically as he unwrapped the series of hardcovers.  The Mechanics of Broomwrighting, by Bo Zhao. "Broom-making?! Da'!" Alec's eyes were blown wide and his mouth fell slack as he stared down at the set of ten books in his lap. He opened a few at random to discover fold-out diagrams of brooms in different stages of development, sample-twigs, and even a miniature model made of painted parchment. "Da'...this is - I just - _guh!"_ It seemed to be all he could manage at the moment. James lived for that moment.

Arthur started in on his, mumbling about favorites, before crying out in shock. "NO WAY!" he shouted. "NO F - NO FLIPPIN' WAY!" James snorted. Arthur held in his lap a huge book, two feet long and a foot wide, as well as a series of smaller catalogue-style books. How To: Magical Tattoos, by Kyo Akiyama. "AM GETTIN' A TATTOO!"

 ** _No,_** James cut in, waving to get his attention, but it was useless.

"LOOK AT THESE!" he screamed, spotting a particularly vicious looking dragon on the cover of one of the design catalogues.

 **_Do not use this on yourself_** , James tried to explain.

"Am gettin' one like that!" Arthur said, pointing repeatedly at the dragon. James snapped his fingers and Arthur looked up at him wildly.

 ** _No tattoos until you are older,_** he said sternly. **_This is for practice._**

"Practice on who?!"

"Yer cat," Alec snorted. Arthur threw a wad of wrapping paper at him.

**_Practice on rubber. Show off to your friends._ **

"Scam a seventh year," Monty stage-whispered. James glared at him. He'd known he would regret this one, but it was too perfect to pass up.

"A could run a whole side hustle!" Arthur realized. Oh Merlin.

**_No!_ **

But it was too late. Arthur was clearly in the planning phase already and James just had to hope all ink stayed off his son's skin until he was older and a bit less stupid.

 **_You can give me one tattoo every year until you are of age_** , he said. Both boys' eyes nearly bugged out of their skulls; even Monty was dumb-founded.

"Yer no' serious..." he said.

 ** _Study, practice,_** James gestured to the book. **_First one next Christmas. Do not try it on anyone else._**

"Promise!" Arthur agreed readily. James gave him a stern look and Arthur crossed his heart. "No one else, jus' you!" he insisted. "Do a get to choose it?"

 ** _No,_** he shook his head. He did not want a big fuck off dragon on his chest. He didn't know what he wanted - he didn't want any ink, really - but he wasn't stupid enough to leave it up to his sprog.

The boys admired their gifts a little longer (James was entirely too smug about winning them over with a few _boring books_ ) before they handed over their own gifts to James and Monty. James opened Alec's gift first and stared in wonder. A stag, about a foot tall, made of sparkling silver wire that was bent delicately into shape. He set it on the side table where it cantered and reared its prongs. It reminded James so starkly of -

"It's Prongs," Alec muttered, coming close. "Professor Lupin helped me do it. S'not real silver, just the color. Did we get it right?"

Throat feeling a bit tight all of the sudden, James nodded. The stag was small and delicate, he was almost afraid to pick it up again. But it had an ethereal quality, much like his old Patronus which he could suddenly see in his mind's eye so clearly.

 ** _Thank you._** Alec nodded, gave him a hug that ended much too soon, and sat back down by the tree. James didn't see what he gave Monty.

"My turn!" Arthur floated his gifts over to them and James had to duck to avoid getting brained. "Oops, sorry..."

Unwrapping a large frame, James took one glimpse of the portrait inside and laughed so hard his stomach hurt. It was a painted portrait of Arthur seated in a huge leather wing-back chair, holding Leonard on his lap while he stroked her, reminiscent of an evil supervillain. Portrait-Arthur actually looked quite life-like, and he moved and smirked evilly, but Portrait-Leonard looked even more like a goblin than usual. James pulled Arthur in for a hug and told him they'd hang it up front-and-center in the sitting room. It was perfect and James wanted to look at it every day.

The room went tense as Monty began to unwrap James's gift. James swallowed nervously, knowing Monty had never rejected a gift in his life but somehow thinking this would be the year he'd find fault in something.

From a red and gold wrapped package, Monty unveiled a new creme brulee set, complete with a torch and extra butane, and a marble rolling pin. The handles of the rolling pin were stained to match the dark wood of the kitchen table.

"Can a have yer old torch?" Alec asked immediately.

 **_No_** , James answered automatically. Though the old torch didn't work right, if anyone could find a way to burn down the city, it'd be Alec.

Monty smiled warmly and kissed James on the top of his mop of hair before passing over his own gift. It was a thin, flimsy rectangle, like a magazine. James carefully unwrapped the shiny purple paper to reveal a manilla folder. Flipping it open, he found dozens of drawings and blueprints, and - worst of all - a huge document entitled Charming Chocolates & Gibbs Goodies.

"I've worked out a whole business model fer us," Monty said delicately but obviously still brimming with excitement.

James swallowed as he flipped through the twenty-page document. Numbers based on two weeks of in-house sales, which were shoddily tracked from the start and taken during their busiest season. Inventory and stock, which were stolen from their personal groceries, whatever they had on hand in the kitchen to get Monty started that first week. Renovation estimates based on the existing shop's restoration, which didn't account for knocking out a wall in their kitchen to connect the old boutique to Charming Chocolates.

"Been readin' up on it," Monty said proudly after a long pause. "Got myself some books week before last. S'all right here, ready tae go, ye won' have tae plan a thing! S'all worked out!"

 _But the numbers are shit_ , James thought, panic gripping him. This wasn't a gift, it was a trap. Was Monty seriously trying to spring this on him Christmas morning? In front of the boys?! He snapped the folder closed and offered a vague smile, trying not to let it slip into a grimace. Monty raised his brows expectantly but James didn't have anything nice to say so he said nothing at all.

"What is it?" Arthur said, looking between them uncertainly.

"We're buildin' an extension, boys," Monty answered, still watching for a reaction.

James pursed his lips and cocked his head, at a complete loss as to how he could get out of this one. Now his gift to Monty - baking supplies - looked like a big _okay let's do it_ sign. But it wasn't. It was a peace offering, a thanks-for-not-giving-up-on-us gift; it was his blessing for Monty to keep selling cakes in the shop despite the rocky start they'd had. It was not what Monty saw.

"Wha', really?!" Alec said, sitting up straight. Arthur was bouncing up and down in glee.

"Marge's retirin' from the boutique," Monty explained. "She's lookin' to sell and I've made her an offer."

He made an offer?!

 ** _Are you insane?_** he asked, dropping the folder on the coffee table. Arthur froze and Alec cringed. Monty's brows shot up toward his hairline and James gestured at the folder. **_Not a plan_** , he said. **_You did not ask me! I do not want this. I told you!_**

"What d'ye mean an extension?" Arthur asked blankly. "What kind?" Alec leaned over to whisper in his ear and his eyes went wide with excitement once more. "Can a sell the donuts?!" he cried.

 **_No extension_** , James said shortly. Now he had to be the bad guy, shooting down what his kids saw as an exciting venture.

 ** _I did the work,_** Monty argued, turning on the sofa to face him. **_This will be easy. I will do all the work._**

 ** _Numbers are rubbish,_** James gestured to the folder. **_Meaningless._**

**_Three weeks of sales -_ **

**_Not enough data. Christmas sales are not normal numbers. Too high._ **

**_My stuff will sell, do not worry._ ** Monty shifted on the cushion, clenching his fists before continuing. **_You worry too much._ **

**_You do not worry enough,_** James retorted. **_You do not know what you are doing._**

Monty growled low in his throat, a sure sign of an impending explosion. Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Alec grab Arthur and make a hasty retreat down the hall with their books. He thought he heard Arthur mumble something about the telly exploding, but he could only think that he'd left his wand in the bedroom. If Monty advanced on him again, he wouldn't reach it in time… But this was ridiculous. They were two grown adults, they loved each other. He knew Monty wouldn't hurt him, just as Monty knew he wouldn't punch him in the face - however much he wanted to at the moment.

 ** _You are not so smart,_** Monty argued. **_Business is not difficult. You make it difficult. I do not need to be a genius to do this._**

 **_You need my business to start_** , he said, his fingers sharp and hard. **_My customers, my kitchen, my address, my tax codes, my money -_ **

**_Our money!_ **

**_Separate accounts, my money,_** James said incredulously. They weren't even married and Monty felt entitled to his life savings for a second fucking shop that he didn't want!

 ** _I can make the down-payment,_** Monty said slowly. **_Co-owners after. Use our money to pay off the boutique._**

No, no, no! As the _sole_ owner of his business, James allotted himself a salary and paid monthly on the flat and shop, which was a joint loan from the bank. Monty didn't pay rent, he'd been living in the flat the past year and a half for free and putting his own salary into savings. If he wanted a shop, he could pay for it himself! Like James did!

 ** _I do not want this,_** James simply said instead of explaining the concept of entitlement to the git.

**_You do not think I can do it._ **

_If you go at it like this,_ James thought, _then yeah, there's a very good chance you'll fail and take us down with you!_ He would not go back to a tiny studio flat and nightly blanket forts, and he wouldn't go back to working sixteen hour days just to get Gibbs Goddamn Goodies up and running.

 **_I do not want this_** , James repeated. **_You are not listening._ **

**_I hear you,_** Monty said with a strange glint in his eye. **_I understand. You want my love and trust. You will not give me yours._**

**_Not fair -_ **

**_Why do you keep his letters under your pillow?_ **

**_Shut up!_ **

**_Blame me for everything. You do not eat or sleep, blame me. Work too hard, blame me. Bored, blame me._ **

**_Not bored!_ ** James protested. Where was he getting this from? Because of the protests? **_Good to do things outside of the shop and family._ **

**_Because you do not want me. You blame me. Did you tell M-A-L-F-O-Y you are not happy with me?_ **

James ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He was shaking. They argued in circles, nothing ever got better! He either said everything wrong or Monty twisted it into something horrible.

 ** _Stop talking about M,_** he demanded. They would never get anywhere on the bakery issue if they kept going back to this because Monty would never concede on this.

**_Why do you keep his letters under your pillow?_ **

**_Stop. Shut up._ **

**_WHY?_ **

**_Because he says nice things,_** James relented finally. **_You called me stupid! He said I am smart!_**

Monty growled again. **_I said sorry!_ **

**_You called me stupid._ **

**_You do not forgive anything,_** Monty stood up, stepping past him before whirling around to face him again.

 ** _Not true,_** James said.

 ** _Yes, because you forgave M,_** Monty added. **_He broke your nose, you forgave him._**

 ** _Broke Harry's nose,_** he scoffed. A lifetime ago! There was nothing to forgive, he didn't even remember it!

 ** _I never hurt you,_** Monty insisted.

 ** _You called me stupid,_** he said. **_Desperate._**

 ** _Slag,_** signed Monty. **_Slags keep letters from other men under the pillow._**

James leapt to his feet, knocking into the coffee table as he stomped over to the snarling git.

 ** _Shut up!_** Not the best defense, but he was quite done with this bullshit.

**_You hurt me. You do not trust me, want M. I am not enough. You do not listen to me. Will not give me a chance to show you a better life!_ **

**_Shut up!_ ** For the first time in years, James's fingers were fumbling over the words. He couldn't think of the signs fast enough to reply to Monty's rapid-fire accusations, not when he was quaking from head to toe and barely able to keep from throwing something.

**_You do not love me._ **

**_You love me too much!_ ** That was true but it wasn't what he wanted to say. His words were failing him and it only frustrated him further. **_Need too much from me! I cannot do it!_ **

**_You can if you stop fucking M-A-L-F-O-Y._ **

Without warning, the telly sizzled and popped, leaving a trail of smoke pouring out of the controls on the side. In the time it took for Monty to glance over at it and look back at him, James's fingers had found the word he was looking for.

**_Leave._ **

* * *

 

Another quiet Christmas at Malfoy Manor. Or as quiet as it could get with his father raving at the top of his lungs in the east wing and with Scorpius belting out Christmas songs with the house elves in the kitchens. Tone-deaf buggers, the lot of them, Scorpius included. Astoria fucked off after lunch to visit her parents, leaving Draco to sedate his father and entertain his mother.

"You've another one," said Mum as she unburdened a familiar red owl. Draco grinned at the sight of Anne.

"From James," he said lightly. "I knew he'd send something."

"More chocolates?" she asked.

"For you," he answered, handing over a small box labeled _Mrs. Malfoy_. She hummed in delight at the cherry cordials. He set aside Scorpius's small tower of ridiculous candies and unwrapped the lumpy package with his name on it. He barked a laugh - of course! _Of course!_ Cheeky blighter. He stretched the navy blue velvet cap over his head, reveling in the silk lining that would keep his hair smooth. It was ridiculous - luxurious and tacky at the same time. "How do I look?" he laughed, striking a little pose. Mum should've laughed - it would have made him feel less stupid - but instead she smiled knowingly. Ugh. Mums.

"That's much more flattering than my old tartan beret," she said. "What did you send him?"

"Your tartan beret."

* * *

 

Arthur was leaving the bathroom when he caught Monty in the hall with his suitcase. His face was red and splotchy. He said nothing. He put his hand on Arthur's head for a long moment, swallowed a few times as if he would speak, and then, he just...left. Down the stairs. Arthur heard the front door open and close. And Monty was gone.

He looked down the hall and saw his Dad standing in the middle of their living room, surrounded by wrapping paper, staring blankly at the smoking telly. The sight left Arthur cold and empty, like he was adrift in the water with nothing to hold on to. It wasn't even lunchtime in the Charming household but it was so...quiet.

He staggered back into his bedroom. Alec seemed to know what he'd seen the moment he came in. A twin thing, maybe. He nodded. And then the tears blurred his vision and he lost sight of his brother. He sniffled a bit as a few tears leaked out, not quite feeling up to crying right now. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right. Everything felt upside down and two inches to the left.

Lunchtime came and went and the boys didn't leave their room. Dad didn't come to the door or text them. Arthur thought he might still be standing in the living room. It was dinnertime before Alec made the next trek out. He came back with sandwiches, said he'd left one for Dad, who was sitting on the sofa with his recipe notebook. Said Dad didn't say anything when he gave him a plate. Said Dad looked a million miles away.

Night fell and Arthur couldn't stand to look at his tattoo book anymore. This wasn't right. It was Christmas, they were meant to be in a sugar-coma by now, but they were staring at two half-finished sandwiches and mourning for Monty, who'd left. Left them. Seven years, and then he was gone with a suitcase.

"Da' still out there?" he asked. Alec cracked the door open and poked his head out, peering down the hall.

"Yeah."

"Cannae jus' leave 'im like that..." he muttered to himself.

"Oi," Alec said, lighting up with an idea. "Get the big blue sheet from the linen closet."

"Yeah?" Arthur knew exactly where he was going with this. Twin thing. He darted out into the hall, sparing a glance for the pitiful sight in the living room, before retrieving the sheet and all the spare pillows from the linen cupboard. When he returned, Alec already had their mattresses on the floor.

It took some stacking and finagling, but they eventually worked it out. The big blue sheet was draped over the floor pallet, held up by Arthur's wardrobe on one side of the room and Alec's stool mounted on his desk on the other side. The sides were tucked into their bed-frames. Alec brought in a string of Christmas lights stolen from the tree - Dad didn't even seem to notice that one - and Arthur arranged the bedding. It wasn't their best work, but it was certainly better than Dad sleeping alone in his room without Monty.

"Dad?" Arthur said gently. The living room was lit only by what was left of the tree's string lights. The multi-colored lights did little to cheer up the room; they threw shadows everywhere and made Dad look gaunt and creepy when he looked up at him from his position on the sofa. Arthur took a fortifying breath. "Can ye sleep in ours tonight?"

Dad blinked once, twice. He looked around the room in surprise, apparently just noticing that it was much too dark to be writing anything in his notebook. He blinked again. Arthur offered a hand and hauled the great stupid oaf off the sofa, leading him by the arm to their room.

Alec stood nervously outside the blanket fort. The multi-colored lights looked much better in the blankets than they did on the tree, much cheerier. Dad blinked again and swallowed. He pulled his arm out of Arthur's grip, resting a hand on his shoulder instead. Arthur felt a gentle squeeze and nodded to Alec, who lifted the flap to let Dad in first.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That's that. Now we can move forward with memories and Drarry. And plot, of course. Always need a dash of plot!


	7. The Golden Git of Gryffindor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spice Girls make an appearance, the pining begins, and the Golden Git of Gryffindor makes a comeback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been so exhausted after writing a chapter as I was after Chapter 6. It's taken ten whole days to crank out Chapter 7! I'd just like to preface this by saying that one of my tags is "possibly frustrating slow burn," and it has been agonizingly SLOW for Drarry fans so thank you for hanging in there. Now let's get to some Level 2 Pining!

**December 26th, 2010: Sunday**

James slowly rejoined the waking world. He couldn't say when he first opened his eyes - was it before or after he noted how quiet the street outside was? before or after he felt someone's elbow digging into his bladder? - but when he finally blinked himself back into reality, he was faced with the devil himself.

Blue skin and red hair framed the copper-coil eyes that stared at him unnaturally. With a gasp and an almighty wrenching movement, James bolted upright, cramming both boys against his chest. His head brushed against the sheet overhead; he knocked into the twinkle lights and tore them down as he backpedaled desperately away from the grinning, _sparking_ monstrosity under Al's bed, pulling his screeching boys with him. Where was his wand, what was blowing sparks at them -

"Wha' - where?"

"Leggo!"

James released the squirming boys and smacked a hand to his chest, heart hammering. Merlin's toe, that robotic bitch was terrifying up close. With a shaking hand, he pointed under the far bed that held up one side of their blanket fort.

"Helen!"

"Jeepers, Da'..." Beside him, leaning against his own bed, Arthur mimicked James's pose and put a hand on his chest with his feet splayed out on the mattress. James huffed a laugh.

"You actually did it!" snorted Al, crawling forward to reach Helen. The sparks had died down but James could swear those eyes were glowing. It was a fucking fire hazard, he didn't know why he let Al keep it. "You actually hid her under the bed, how long - I cannae believe - just _petty_ s'what it is..."

 _Wait til you're a parent, you little shit,_ James thought vindictively. _You don't know what petty is._ He looked forward to grandchildren for one reason: together, they could team up properly against the twins and put Al and Ar through at least a fraction of the hell that they subjected him to. Or the hell that he subjected himself to, in the case of this backfired plot for revenge. _Dammit, Helen._

 ** _Waffles?_** he offered as he began to extricate himself from the twisted blankets.

"Gallery today?" Arthur asked hopefully.

 **_If it is open_**. He crawled stiffly to the bedroom door in lieu of standing. He would stand after he took his potion. **_I will owl D-E-A-N._ **

* * *

 

_Dean,_

_Is the gallery open today? Thought I'd bring the boys by. Don't mention Monty._ [scratched out ink] _He's staying with his sister. I'll explain later just don't bring him up around the boys._

_Harry_

* * *

 

_Harry,_

_Everything alright? Your owl looks mad, feathers all bent. Have an auror check her over, looks like something gave her a spot of trouble. The letter came through alright so probably nothing._

_Gallery opens at 11, come on by. There's a workshop going til 2. Won't talk about your Scotty. Pint soon?_

_Dean_

* * *

 

 **_Fighting a lot_ ** , Dad had said. **_Since September._ **

**_Why?_** Arthur insisted for the third time. Alec knew his brother. Knew those tears in his eyes were an inch away from turning into some very impressive yelling. Alec picked at his last waffle, watching Dad fumble over his words. He was hiding something. They were only getting the barest details.

 ** _Everything,_** Dad explained vaguely.

**_Bakery?_ **

**_Yes, and more._** Dad shifted in his seat, running his fingers over the grain of the table. Alec bit into the waffle and a string of syrup clung to his chin. The bite stuck in his throat and he washed it down with milk. Everything tasted like rubber. Who was it that usually made waffles, Dad or Monty?

 **_What?_ ** Arthur said, gripping his hair in frustration. Dad opened and closed his mouth - _Why does he do that?_ Alec wondered idly. _He hasn't talked in twelve years, why does he still open his mouth like he's going to say something?_

 ** _I do not want a bakery extension,_** Dad said. **_Cannot do it._**

 ** _No reason to break up,_** Arthur said with an impatient sigh. **_Tell him. Monty will listen._**

 ** _I talk to him, he ignores what I say,_** Dad went on delicately. **_Pushes me for more._**

**_More what?_ **

**_Everything._ ** Dad ran his hands through his hair, much like Arthur just did. **_We do not agree on anything. Fight about everything._ **

**_Stop fighting!_** Arthur glared at Dad accusingly. **_You always want to fight!_**

Dad pushed his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. He was pale and hadn't touched his own waffles. Alec thought he looked a bit fragile, if it were possible for a human to look that way. Like the icicles on the awning outside the shop, the little ones that chipped off with a little _tink_ at the slightest brush of a finger. Alec stared into his half-empty glass and decided he didn't really care for the smell of milk.

When Dad signed again, he sort of looked like he was about to sneeze.

 ** _I stopped fighting,_** he said. **_Could not fight about everything._**

**_What is everything?!_ **

**_How to brush my teeth,_** he said suddenly with a wild, helpless expression. **_When to go to sleep. Who to be friends with. Money. Everything._**

Arthur sat back in his chair and chewed his lip, sour and suspicious but apparently out of questions. _When to go to bed?_ Alec thought incredulously. _But he's Dad. He hasn't got a bedtime._ Monty stayed up all night watching telly anyway, who was he to tell Dad when -

Oh. Monty hadn't been staying up to watch telly. He had been kipping on the couch.

As a trio, they made an early start for the wizarding gallery that held a large collection of Dean's work. Arthur stopped by the front and joined a workshop led by Dean - something about sentient subjects - while Alec went with Dad to check out the exhibits. He meant to pay more attention, meant to - what was the word? - _appreciate_ the art. Only he kept thinking that human beings were weird for doing this sort of thing. Going to a specific building to look at pretty (or pretty ugly) things. They weren't _doing_ anything, weren't buying any of it. Just walking around. Looking. They did less than the exhibit pieces themselves, which moved and creeped along with the crowd through the winding corridors.

 ** _Do you want to join the workshop?_** Dad asked after half an hour of loitering - er, appreciating. Alec shook his head, poking a replica niffler made of hippogriff feathers that was hovering near his elbow. This was more Arthur's scene than his and that was alright. Not everything had to be a winner. Maybe they could go to the fabrication lab downtown tomorrow.

After another half hour, the first workshop session came to a close and Arthur joined them, gushing about making some adjustments to his portrait. They made another round of the exhibits so Arthur could see everything - at least he could appreciate the strange, colorful pieces that fluttered through the air and scraped across the floor, even if Alec and Dad were starting to go cross-eyed - before calling it a day. Dad exchanged some brief words with Dean using his translation spell (facing away from the meager Sunday crowd, in case of reporters), and they went home.

A few customers were pressing their noses against the glass when they arrived. One of their regulars approached Dad, who grimaced.

 ** _Closed today,_** he signed apologetically. One of them was meant to translate, but Alec couldn't bring himself to do it. He stopped Arthur with a look and turned pleadingly to Dad.

 ** _Open,_** he said simply. **_Hot cocoa._**

Dad hesitated, glancing at Arthur, who shrugged.

 ** _One hour,_** he amended, nodding at the customer.

"One hour," Alec repeated with a grin.

* * *

 

_Ron,_

_Harry brought his kids to the gallery yesterday. Did he tell you? He and Monty split. Monty's staying with his sister in Kent. Didn't say much but I think it only just happened this weekend. What are the odds it's just a misunderstanding?_

_Check on him soon maybe, looks like he's got his hands full._

_Dean_

* * *

 

_Dean & Seamus, _

_Why's your owl here without a letter?_

_Ron_

* * *

 

**December 28th, 2010: Tuesday**

_"Hermione?"_

"Is this Alec?"

_"Arthur..."_

"Right, yes, of course," Hermione smacked her forehead lightly. She could swear those boys looked and sounded so different in person, but on the phone, she didn't stand a chance. "Is something wrong?" She dreaded getting calls from the Charming house: the calls ranged from night-terrors to medical emergencies to Monty whispering to her about James when she would much rather be sleeping. She hoped it wasn't anything too serious this time - Ron was making a hearty beef stew she'd been looking forward to all day.

 _"Erm - yes."_ His voice was quiet and uneven. Hermione perked up.

"What?" she snapped, already whipping out her wand and preparing to Apparate. "What's happened?...Arthur!" A million images flooded her brain: Alec was bleeding out, or James blew up the kitchen, or a Death Eater was holding them all hostage and only Arthur had managed to slip away -

_"Monty left."_

Her brain fizzled to a stop.

"What?" She must've heard wrong.

_"Monty left. On Christmas. Dad tossed him out."_

"Why?" This didn't sound right - unless James had lost his temper. Yes, and then he was too proud to fix it, leaving it to his boys to call in the troops. Well. Hermione would just have to fix things for the idiot, as per usual.

 _"Dad said they're fighting a lot, I dunno,"_ Arthur said in that wavering, high-pitched voice. Hermione's heart broke a bit at the sound, wondering how she could ever get those two boys mixed up. _"Said he won't let him back! Please, Hermione, he's bein' stubborn. We just want Monty tae come home."_

"Let me call Monty and see what's going on," she said soothingly, already planning five steps ahead. "I'll send a letter to your Dad right now, see if I can't invite myself over after dinner tonight. Don't worry, Arthur," she added. "We'll get it sorted." Curse James and his temper anyway, the man was a father!

* * *

 

When Ron and Hermione visited the Charming household that evening, it was without a reply to her self-invitation. James seemed grouchy and unsurprised when they arrived at the front door, but he offered them tea, set up the translation spell, and began a fumbling explanation.

"It just doesn't sound like Monty..." she said after he recounted a particularly vicious row in their kitchen some weeks ago. "He's never - he's never hurt you, has he?" she asked suddenly, her heart sinking at the implications.

 ** _No._** James hesitated, then went on. **_He is different when we talk about M-A-L-F-O-Y. Crazy._**

"Monty's not crazy," she insisted. "You're just not seeing eye to eye here and you're letting your emotions get the best of you. And - " She paused to consider the best way to phrase this. "You are - that is, you've been..." she sighed. "What you remember of your past, so much of it must be frightening. For ages after the war, I couldn't stand large open spaces. It's a logistical nightmare if something were to happen, there's no way to take cover, it just makes for an easy target." She shifted in her seat. It had taken years of stubborn work to get over that particular fear of hers.

"Yeah, and I don't like spiders," Ron chimed in helpfully.

 ** _I am crazy,_** he said, scrunching his face. Did he really believe that?

"No." She sent him a stern look. "I'm saying it's only natural for your mind to assume the worst when someone advances on you during an argument. It's only natural for you to pull your wand, but...well, it may have made things worse. Monty's sensitive, you know, and I'm sure he was hurt that you thought he would do something to you. All those emotions running high… It may not have been as awful as either of you think."

At least, that's what she hoped. She would dearly love to view that memory in a pensieve because if Monty had actually intended to do something to James, she would simply have to set him on fire.

 ** _Scared._** James bowed his head and glared at the kitchen table.

"After everything, mate, who could blame you?"

They were quiet for a long moment. Hermione studied his pale face and furrowed brow. This wasn't a passing tantrum. James was angry, and grieving, and a bit lost.

"I spoke with Monty today," she confessed. His head jerked up, eyes wide. "Just to get his side of the story. He… Well, I don't think I've ever actually heard him swear before, no matter how worked up he can get when we phone. He sounded - "

**_Phone often?_ **

_Shit._ She grimaced. "He rings sometimes, late at night," she said gently. James turned his head away, scowling, and Ron frowned at her for spilling the beans. "He asks for advice - I've only told him to stop being a caveman and start communicating with you properly. The same as I've told you, so stop giving me that look, James Potter!" Ron snorted and James blinked at her, his expression morphing into something closer to bemusement. "Charming, I mean. You know who you are."

 ** _Not cheating._** His mouth was downturned and sour, his eyes cast low. **_Never._**

"'Course not," Ron scoffed.

"You wouldn't dare," she said. "He's seeing what isn't there, that's not your fault. I'm only saying that fighting fire with fire won't put anything out. You were hurt and you responded with anger - "

**_He is angry first!_ **

"Don't even bother with that _'he started it'_ nonsense, we have children too, you know." James glared at the table. "He may have started it, but you finished it. You told him to leave. Do you regret that now?"

 ** _No._** His face was set firmly but she saw a flicker of doubt. She raised a brow. **_A little,_** he admitted.

"Why a little?" she pressed. He shrugged pitifully, then said:

**_Kids sad._ **

"They've known him since they were - what, four?" He nodded. "Theoretically, if they weren't in the picture...would you ever take him back?"

**_No._ **

"Why not?" She hated this. Was she helping the situation or making everything worse? She desperately wanted them to work it out. If anyone deserved a family, it was Harry - well, James.

 ** _Not happy when I am with him. Five months. Crazy. Stupid. Not happy._** His face twisted again and Hermione stared at him in alarm. The situation went beyond caveman communication; James looked as hurt by this as Monty sounded on the phone.

"Having emotions doesn't make you crazy, H-James, it makes you human." He took off his glasses and pressed his hands to his face. "Monty is not happy when he's with you either." She was putting words in Monty's mouth but that was the gist of what he'd said that evening. "He feels useless and in the way. He feels like you don't need him anymore now that you have magic."

 ** _Do not use magic often,_** James defended.

"You really should start carrying your wand with you," Ron snapped. "All the time, I mean, not just for translating when we're around. You never know what could... Mate, it could save your life one day!" Hermione knew he was still running in circles trying to find out what had happened to Harry all those years ago. All those miscellaneous investigations were driving his partner mad, but Auror Goldstein had stuck by his side through all of it.

**_Do not need it._ **

"Someone _poisoned_ you last month!" he cried. James lifted his head from his hands, eyes darting to the kitchen door, and Hermione raised a _Muffliato_. "You're on someone's list, Harry, you have to take precautions - "

**_Okay! Okay!_ **

"Right." Ron didn't look entirely satisfied, but he continued. "And anyway, Hermione, he shouldn't need Monty, I don't think that's right."

"Monty needs to be needed," Hermione insisted.

"But that's not how it works," he said, leaning forward over his own mug of tea. "I mean, my parents are brilliant together but they don't _need_ each other. You and I, we don't need each other… We can do just fine on our own, it's just we're better together. Like a team."

"You need to be self-sufficient, I understand," she sighed. "But would it kill you to let him help? Just a little bit can go a long way. Let him cook dinner or draw you a bath or - "

**_Carry me downstairs?_ **

"What?" she said, half laughing at the image.

 ** _Put food on my plate because I should not lift the serving spoon?_** James went on, scowling.

"Don't be silly, you're exaggerating - "

**_Not allow me work in the kitchen?_ **

"Not _allow_ you?" she spluttered. "What do you mean he won't _allow_ you in your own kitchen?"

"I told you," Ron muttered to her, though James could clearly hear. "Last Saturday night, he kept doing everything for him, hardly let him out of the chair. It was barmy."

Alarm bells were ringing in her mind, but surely this was a misunderstanding, surely James meant that Monty preferred simply to offer his help…?

But no. James went on to explain every little chore that Monty insisted on doing for him, every little moment Monty thought it was necessary to supervise him, to tell him how he should do it instead. She listened as he told them about waking up at dawn just to have some time to himself. He told them about discovering Harry's invisibility cloak in the trunk and using it just to carve out a modicum privacy. She listened in stunned silence as he told them, in his own way, how Monty made _him_ feel useless. How he didn't want to brush his teeth or cook or write a letter unless he was hiding from his boyfriend.

"You've always been independent, I just assumed..." she said. "I didn't - well." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. There had to be a way to work through this, to get Monty to see what James really needed from him. They couldn't just give up -

"I think you made the right call."

The effect of those words was instantaneous. James covered his face again and slouched over the table, looking defeated and exonerated all at once. She glared daggers at Ron and moved her tea aside, shifting closer to James to run a hand up and down his back.

"Sometimes you gotta call it," Ron went on. Hermione wasn't sure she agreed but she knew she hated herself for promising Arthur that they would sort it out. James's back raised and lowered under her hand as he took deep, purposeful breaths.

"Well, I don't think we can leave it like this," she said finally. James shook his head but didn't lift his face. "The boys deserve better. We've got to get you on speaking terms." James jerked out of her grasp, staring at her dubiously.

 **_He will not let go_ **.

"He will," Ron said. "We'll talk to him, mate, when you're ready. And we won't let him force his way back into your life."

"It'll be on your terms," she added. That much they could agree on. James needed to regain some control.

"Promise. We'll help you sort it out."

"First things first," Hermione said, straightening in her seat. "You need to hire someone to mind the counter so you can get back to the kitchen."

For the first time that night, James smiled.

* * *

 

**January 1st, 2011: Saturday**

_"I've got tae go, kiddo,"_ Monty's voice said regretfully. Arthur pressed his mobile a little tighter against his ear, not quite ready to end the conversation. _"Allison needs help bringin' the groceries in. I'll call tomorrow, yeah?"_

"Yeah..."

_"Happy New Year. Give ma love to Alec."_

"Bye."

It had been a week. New Year's Eve was spent at Ron and Hermione's house. That was fun - George brought new tricks - but Arthur just wanted a normal Saturday night tonight. He wanted to make heaps of chocolates for Sunday's rush. He wanted Marge to bang on the shared kitchen wall when they played their music too loud. He would even endure Dad's ABBA albums, if that's what it took to set all this to rights.

"Arty, you comin'?" Alec called from downstairs.

"Yeah."

Arthur thumped miserably downstairs. They still had to work, of course, even if everything felt wrong without Monty. The chocolates wouldn't make themselves and while Dad would let them off if they made their case, Alec would never let Arthur skive.

He pushed through the kitchen door and stifled a grown: the stupid ABBA album was playing. But instead of pots, pans, trays, and ingredients laid out on every surface, there was only a stack of old board games on the kitchen table. Dad sat at the table, facing away from him as he set up one of the games. Alec caught his eye and shrugged, looking at least half as bewildered as Arthur felt.

"Aw, not Power Grid!" Arthur moaned, flopping into the seat beside Dad.

"I got here first," Alec sneered. "You can choose the next one."

"But Power Grid takes forever!"

"It's only eight," his brother said defensively. "There's plenty of time for another game. S'long as it's no Mun- "

"Munchkin!" he cried. "Munchkin's next, I'll get it ready..." He started rooting through the precarious stack of game boxes at his elbow while Dad passed out the cards.

The game was painfully boring and did indeed take forever. The ABBA CD had to be switched out for various other ABBA albums - Dad had a never ending supply - but eventually it came to a merciful close by ten o'clock. Alec demolished them, of course.

 **_Break_** , Dad requested, getting to his feet.

"Cocoa?" Arthur called out, shoving the game board aside to make room for Munchkin. Alec was still gloating as he gathered the cards, but Arthur would soon take his revenge. The hot cocoa would be put to good use - it always made Alec sleepy. That would throw him off.

Sure enough, forty minutes later, Alec was nodding off with five curse cards in effect against his woefully unprepared character. Arthur and Dad were tied at Level 9 - one away from victory! - when Arthur's character kicked down the door to reveal a Level 1 Potted Plant.

 _"HA!"_ He pumped a fist in the air but suddenly Dad was laying all sorts of cards from his hand. Another monster - Level 18 Big Daddy! - that came with a Plus 3 Bonus against Arthur's Wizard. "Nooo! Da', stop it!" He could see his victory slipping away with every traitorous card! He frantically searched his hand and tossed out a Bonus to counteract at least some of the damage.

Dad laughed, throwing his last card down. A Curse!

"Yer meant to use those on _Alec,_ " Arthur grumbled as he read the details of the Curse. He threw out his Wizard's protective gear, all but the Plus 1 Hat, and recounted his strength.

"Still nineteen to eighteen," he breathed, reaching into the box to choose his winning level-piece. "Got anything else? Going once - twice - "

"Winner..." Alec groaned sleepily into his arms, wiggling his fingers in mock-applause. Arthur extracted a brass button from the box, adding it triumphantly to his other nine pieces.

"Am goin' tae bed," his brother said around a huge yawn.

**_Goodnight._ **

"But we cannae play another round wae jus' the two of us!" This wouldn't be an issue if Monty were here, he couldn't help but realize. "We played yer stupid game for two hours!"

"Mine's funner," Alec called out as he left through the kitchen door.

"Only cos you always win..."

He packed up the game dejectedly. It wasn't even eleven, they could stay up until midnight on weekends. What a waste of a Saturday. Dad hobbled away behind him and fiddled with the boombox mounted on the far counter.

A familiar chorus of _la la la lalalala la la_ and Arthur shot straight up out of his seat, whirling around. Dad smirked knowingly as the Spice Girls started up:

 _When you're feelin' sad and low  
_ _We will take you where you gotta go  
_ _Smilin', dancin', everything is free_  
_All you need is positivity!_

Arthur grinned back as Dad rejoined the table and started shuffling through the stack of books on the end near the wall. He laid out a few of his old sketchbooks, gesturing to them. Arthur flipped through a few before landing on an inked drawing of a vintage-style Batman surrounded by villains. He tossed it back over to Dad, who opened the box of colored pencils. He found a few empty pages at the back of another sketchpad for himself and sat back down to work.

 _Colors of the world  
_ _Spice up your life!  
_ _Every boy and girl_  
_Spice up your life!_

It was an old tradition of theirs but still good. Better than going to bed, anyway. Dad (very carefully) colored his old sketches while he worked on new ones. Sometimes Alec joined them, sometimes he didn't. He couldn't remember when it had started exactly - he had vague memories of Dad coloring with them in their coloring books on the fold-out card table in their studio flat, using wax crayons and fat markers.

 _Slam it to the left  
_ _If you're havin' a good time  
_ _Shake it to the right  
_ _If ya know that you feel fine  
_ _Chicas to the front  
_ _Ha ha  
_ _Hai Si Ja_  
_Hold tight!_

Over the years, the crayons and markers switched to colored pencils and brush-pens. Arthur started offering his own drawings as material. And Alec would inevitably wander away to take apart the back of the telly or tinker with the oven while Arthur had Dad's attention.

 _Yellow man in Timbuktu  
_ _Color for both me and you  
_ _Kung Fu Fighting  
_ _Dancing Queen  
_ _Tribal Spaceman_  
_And all that's in between..._

Dad used the white pencil to fix a mistake, surreptitiously checking to see if Arthur had noticed.

"Saw that."

Dad flinched and hooked an arm around the sketchpad possessively, blocking his view.

 _Colours of the world  
_ _Spice up your life  
_ _Every boy and every girl  
_ _Spice up your life  
_ _People of the world_  
_Spice up your life!_

* * *

 

**January 2nd, 2011: Sunday, Early Morning**

"It's one in the morning, Weasel," Draco grumbled as he descended the stairs, resisting the urge to rub at his itching eyes. "What brings you and your freckles to my parlor at one in the morning?"

"He's alright," Weasley began, eyeing him warily. He wore his Auror robe over bright orange pyjamas. Draco pulled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, those words ringing uselessly in his skull. "But I thought you ought to get the story from me before you hear some half-baked rumor. There was an attack. Just an hour ago."

"James?" he croaked. His voice was scratchy with sleep, not panic.

"They're all okay," the ginger reassured. Draco wanted to shake him.

"What happened?"

"Either Monty's secretly been a wizard this whole time, or someone's used Polyjuice," he sighed, his shoulders inching up close to his ears in an obvious sign of tension. "Got through the wards on the street, anyhow, so I reckon it _could_ be that Monty's a wizard 'cos it's only Muggles allowed through unless they've got an Auror escort. And he was there when we set the wards so he could've been tied in this whole ti - "

"Rambling!" he barked. It was all information but none of it was important. "What. Happened?"

"Right." Weasley looked chagrined and went on. "Harry and Arthur were in the kitchen when they heard Monty come in the front. Harry went to meet him in the shop, unarmed, the git. Luckily Arthur had _his_ wand on him so when Monty attacked, he was - "

"Attacked how - _precisely_ how?!" He spent a rotation in Spell Damage during his studies and the memories of all those horrible injuries flooded his mind as he tried to piece together what had befallen James.

"Killing Curse," Weasley grunted, looking pale under his freckles. "He dodged it and tried to keep him away from the kitchen and the stairs, to keep him from the boys. He didn't have his wand - I _told_ him to keep his wand on him! I told him - "

"Weasley!"

"Sorry - Arthur got on his belly to watch from under the door," he went on. "Stuck his wand out and managed a good enough swish-and-flick to levitate that big heavy sales register over Monty's head. Cracked him right open which saved his dad's arse and gave Harry enough time to get the boys out."

"Just the boys?!" he squeaked (manfully).

"Himself too, obviously," Weasley amended. "I should've given him the duty schedule, he didn't know who to look for when they went running down the street for an Auror. Took him nearly ten minutes to find Tony, and by then, Monty was gone."

"Goldstein?" asked Draco. "Why's your partner on a different shift than you?"

"I'm in charge of the Potter case," he said. "I'm on every shift."

"But you weren't there when he needed you!"

"Excuse me for trying to get some sleep!" seethed Weasley. "Without any new leads, there's only so much I can do!"

"Well, here's your lead!"

"I've got a team heading out to Monty's sister's place," he said, visibly trying to reign in his Weasley temper. "But I'd have a better chance of solving this if _you_ gave him his memories back."

Draco spluttered. "I can't force him to - "

"But you can try to convince him!" Weasley pointed out. "He trusts your opinion, Merlin knows why. He listens to you!" Draco felt a flare of annoyance. And just why _shouldn't_ James trust him?

"Don't tell me the Weasel is upset that his best friend isn't his best friend anymore?" He pasted on his best sneer.

"Fuck you, Malfoy! I've half a mind to - "

"Daddy?"

Draco whirled around and looked up the stairs. "Scorpius!" His son wore a silk dressing gown over his pyjamas, tied tightly at the waist with a sharp little bow. "Go to bed."

"You're being mean."

Weasley guffawed and Draco felt his cheeks turn pink. "Yes. Yes, you are quite right," he bit out, refusing to turn back around to face the Auror. He cursed his and Astoria's goal to instill such manners in the Malfoy heir _._ "My mistake, Weasel."

"You know, Scorpius, my name's not - "

"Where are they staying tonight?" he interrupted, still facing away. There was a long pause. Scorpius was looking between them suspiciously.

"They'll come to ours when they've finished giving their statements at the Ministry," came the eventual reply, though it sounded stilted, awkward. Draco nodded. Staying under the roof of an Auror was the best option, of course. "I should head back, actually. I only wanted you to know everything's - "

"Not too crowded in your hovel?" he couldn't resist asking. He hoped Scorpius didn't know the word hovel. Though his back was still turned, Draco could feel the anger radiating from the man. But it was the middle of the night and Weasley had woken them up because he failed in his duty to protect James - Draco felt he was perfectly within his right to push some buttons in return. Especially when it was so easy.

"You'd prefer he stay here?" growled Weasley. Draco jerked around to face him, eyes wide. _That is certainly not what I meant -_ "Since we've all got such pleasant memories of Malfoy Manor."

"A pity he doesn't remember them," he snarled.

When there were no more barbs to trade, Weasley used the Floo to return to the Ministry. Draco put Scorpius back to bed, but he couldn't calm himself. He was trembling, as he was prone to do when he heard his father mumbling to an invisible Dark Lord at the dinner table. His limbs were thrumming with nervous energy, his heart was pounding. As he choked down a Calming Draught, he wondered what was going through James's mind now. Was he afraid? Angry? He could easily imagine Potter in a situation like that, he could see him coming out of it heroically - unscarred and unbothered. An average Saturday night for lunatic Gryffindors. But James was unarmed and half-crippled and distracted by his kids. Betrayed by his love.

He asked himself what he would do if Astoria - or someone wearing her face - suddenly turned on him with little Scorpius in the next room. He asked himself if he would ever be able to sleep in his own home again if the Aurors had failed him so badly. He asked himself how James's hip might hold up in combat.

He did not ask himself why Monty had been staying with his sister.

* * *

 

[Voicemail: Message from Sunday, January 2nd, 11:33am]

 _"James, a know yer mad, an' am not too happy wae you myself. But am beggin' you,_ please _\- get outta there. Dinnae put yer boys at risk fer - what, some silly magic potions? Cut yer losses, jaybird. Come out here to Kent, Allison'll put you up an' we'll start a new shop if ye want. We can use a new name so yer kind cannae find us. But dinnae choose yer magic over yer family...look what good that's done so far! Yer gonna get those kids killed cos o' yer stubbornness. Text me or send Lucy. Tell the boys a love 'em."_

* * *

 

_James,_

_Your ginger peasant told me what happened. I've enclosed a variety of relics from the Malfoy vaults with ancient protection charms. I've also taken the liberty of sending it all through Weasley himself so he can be sure it's up to snuff, no tricks._

_(Weasel, I know you're reading this. Don't arrest me until you arrest yourself for incompetence.)_

_In particular, you should utilize the black tourmaline. It holds a wealth of shielding charms that have been strengthened over six centuries. Keep it close to your body, but for Merlin's sake, dodge if you can. It's a ruddy old crystal, not a miracle-worker._

_I've attached instructions for each item in case your feeble mind cannot discern the proper usage, but if you could arse yourself to carry a wand, oh high and mighty Chosen One, the entire wizarding world would breathe a bit easier for it. You said you could recall basic defensive spells. Allow me to remind you that that knowledge won't do any good unless you put it to use._

_Scorpius would like more sprinkle truffles, thank you in advance. Mother wouldn't say no to another box of cherry cordials, and I suggest you take care of her first seeing as you've just pilfered many of her treasured family heirlooms._

_Draco_

* * *

 

James repaired the old manicure station with a flick of his wand, marveling at how easy it would have been to renovate the shop with magic all those years ago. The vintage cash register would take some work; Alec had offered to work on it but James wouldn't hear another word about them returning to the shop anytime soon. He sent them back at Hogwarts early, where it was safe.

What a turn-around his life had had since September, when the very thought of sending his boys away had torn him apart. Now Monty was taking up his old mantle, claiming magic was dangerous and he should flee for his life. Ron assured him that Monty was safe, that his memories of two nights ago proved their Polyjuice theory. But that didn't make it any less jarring to hear Monty's voice berating him in that voicemail.

 _"James,"_ Monty's voice had called from the front door, sounding slightly off. Hermione theorized it was the accent that had changed, but James couldn't be certain. It was the only thing not-Monty had said except for spells. _Avada Kedavra_ , James knew that one. Intimately. The rushing sound, the sickly green light, the wave of dark energy - it encompassed his senses and he threw himself to the floor on instinct. Leapt to his feet and surged forward on instinct. Kept not-Monty from getting any farther into their home on instinct.

He was still overwhelmed with pride at Arthur's good sense and more than a bit ashamed that it had come down to an eleven-year-old child to lend his assistance from behind a closed door. He kept his wand on him at all times now, in his back pocket, and thanked the forces of the universe that Arthur had remembered the story of a young Ron Weasley facing off against a troll.

An old metal cash register was just as good as a club, even if it was more delicate than a simple _Reparo_ could fix.

He kept the sign flipped to Closed for the day. With several displays turned over in the fight, he had a lot of stock to replenish before he could open again. He sighed. Everything was different now. He felt like the world had tilted over and he couldn't quite knock it back into place. Monty was gone. His shop was half-empty. Every blink brought the image of that green light rushing at him again. Not just last night's green light, but a barrage of long-forgotten memories:

_"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_His own meager spell met a green jet of light and a golden cage erupted into place around them, pushing back the shadowy figures._

_"He's dead."_

_The snowy owl was struck as they fled through the air._

_He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone._

_"Kill the spare!"_

_It came for him again and the Elder Wand sent it back. A body hit the ground._

Shaking his head and resolutely ignoring the Auror guard that trailed him from room to room, James grabbed his cane and headed into the kitchen to get to work. A shiny black crystal was tied into his shoelaces, pressing against the top of his foot with every step. It was a gentle comfort.

* * *

 

**January 8th, 2011: Saturday Night**

It wasn't Ron's fault that Malfoy was a petty little shit. In retrospect, yes, it may have been better to make certain the twit knew about the breakup _before_ inviting him over for an impromptu boozy chocos night. But Harry and Malfoy wrote each other constantly, so how was Ron to know that he hadn't yet told the ferret about Monty?

Harry wasn't drinking at first, and while Ron couldn't fault him for being a miserable host on such short notice, he was glad to have dragged Tony along as a backup guard, awkward though he was in casual settings. With a proper Auror on duty, not drinking, Ron was free to bring out every Weapon of Mass Intoxication he had in his arsenal. Drinking games, frivolous challenges, whatever got Harry's competitive spirit roused enough to get those first few shots into him. And then the next few happened, and one or two after that, and eventually even the translation spell couldn't make sense of his wobbly signs.

And Malfoy was picking, picking, picking. He made pointed comments about Monty's absence, Monty's personality, Monty's _clothes_. Even Dean and Seamus were catching on to Harry's rising temper, but Malfoy remained blissfully unaware of the danger until Harry snapped. Literally - he snapped a huge bar of chocolate into bits and started hurling the pieces at Malfoy's head from across the kitchen. Ron was starkly reminded of when Harry threw a Potter Stinks badge at his forehead in fourth year, except this showing was much more pathetic. At first Malfoy laughed, but then the bits kept flying and Malfoy resorted to throwing them back just as ferociously. Both of them being drunk off their arses, not a single piece hit the mark, but the message was clear.

"Eat me, Potter!"

A rude gesture that didn't require a translation was his only answer before Harry snatched his wand and stormed - stumbled - upstairs. After a long moment, Ron caught Tony's eye and jerked his head at the door. Auror Goldstein followed, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else tonight than playing nanny to a drunk infant.

"So..." Dean started, sucking on his lip noisily. "Do you have a taste for war against Harry or are you just thick?"

"What're you...on?" Draco slurred, dropping into a chair. Seamus snorted and poured him a glass of water, which he sneered at.

"Monty," Seamus said by way of explanation.

"Who's?"

"Gibbs. The Muggle," Dean clarified.

"Idiot."

"Yes, you are," Ron mumbled, pouring himself a glass of water. Tony returned to the kitchen with a helpless shrug and Ron rolled his eyes. Harry was a stubborn arse.

"They split," Dean said. Malfoy didn't seem to take that in so he bent close to the blond's face and practically shouted: "Monty and Harry split up two weeks ago! That's why we've ambushed him tonight. To cheer him up, not set him off!"

"Open..." Malfoy swayed in his seat. "Open invit-tation."

"Merlin, you're pissed."

"You're underdressed."

Ron drained his glass and set it aside, striding forward to haul Malfoy to his feet.

"Let's get you home, ferret."

"Eat me, Weasel."

* * *

 

**January 9th, 2011: Sunday**

Draco didn’t want to be there, but he didn’t have much of a choice after confessing to Blaise that something awful had happened last night. Something that resulted in him waking up, half dead, with bits of chocolate crushed and smeared in the folds of his rumpled robes. Shouting, there’d been some shouting, he relayed Blaise at lunch as he nibbled on a bit of dry toast. A hangover potion could only do so much for a thirty-year-old who’d consumed a shallow pond of liquor. That was why he only had dry toast for lunch, and why he’d been overpowered by Blaise’s outrageous demands for apologies, and why he now found himself escorted by Blaise and Weasley to the front door of Charming Chocolates.

It was still early afternoon and the shop was closed, which was apparently unusual if Weasley’s accusing glare was anything to go by.

“He’s not the only one hungover,” Draco grumbled. Weasley led them through the locked door and called out into the empty shop.

“Rachel?”

“Here,” someone called from upstairs.

“I’m sending up company - they’re clear.”

“I figured, if you let them in,” Draco heard the other Auror mumble to herself as they made their way up.

“Come on down, let them have some privacy,” Weasley ordered from the ground floor.

“Isn’t that what got him jumped in the first place?” he said scathingly. “Aurors leaving their post, with their romantic ideas about privacy - ”

“Is this romantic, Draco?” Blaise asked too casually as he reached the landing. Draco shoved him hard in the back because he didn’t have a knife to return the favor.

James met them in the sitting room while Auror Rachel No-Surname and Auror Red Weasel retreated downstairs. Blaise lasted all of three minutes while James prepared the tea - adding two heaping sugars to Draco’s - before the uncomfortable silence became too much for the always-speaking Unspeakable.

“Draco would like to apologize for whatever happened last night,” he said, tending his own tea with no little amount of showmanship. If Draco didn’t know any better, he’d say Blaise was managing to take offense at the fact that James couldn’t possibly know how he took his tea. He was one glib comment away from an official insanity diagnosis.

“Malfoys don’t apologize,” Draco recited almost automatically. He’d repeated this mantra at least a dozen times this afternoon but suddenly, under James’s cool glare, it seemed a frail argument. Which was a pity because until now it had seemed airtight.

“Maybe they should give it a go for once,” Blaise said out of the corner of his mouth, perfectly audible to James. “Might spend a bit less time in Azkaban after the next war if they could learn to swallow their pride for - ”

“Get. Your. Perfect. Arse. Out.”

Draco caught the ghost of a smirk on James’s lips as Blaise sighed and left, taking his tea with him.

“Take as long as you need - I’ll mind the shop!” he called over his shoulder. They listened to his descending footsteps and then James reluctantly set up his wand.

 **_He will eat my stock_**.

“Probably. I certainly don’t share my supply with him.”

James nodded, sipping his tea.

 ** _Do not share, do not apologize._** The statement hung in the air between them before eventually dissipating.

“I’m not sure what you want me to apologize for,” he said evenly. “Can’t seem to remember much of last night.” He sipped his tea and decided to set James up with a proper supply soon; tea bags were awful.

**_Me neither._ **

“And you're angry anyway. So. Here we are.”

James nodded. They said nothing. Draco wasn’t sure if they had ever gone so long in each other's presence without speaking.

“Your tea is shit.”

James clenched his jaw and for a moment looked as if he might throw the mug of hot tea at Draco’s face. An image of last night flashed in his mind - hurling chocolate at each other - but it was hazy, possibly just a dream.

“I think maybe - ” He hesitated and the annoyance in James’s expression twisted into something else. Caution? “I think maybe I could have said something hurtful.”

James stared at him.

“It seems like the sort of thing I’d do. Especially to you.” There. That was close enough, he reckoned. James scowled, sighed, set his mug down, and ran his hands through the bird’s nest on his head. Draco couldn’t see his face with his head ducked down like that, but he was willing to bet there was a glare in place for him.

 ** _Your hair looks better,_** was what he signed without looking up. Draco had to re-read the translation to be sure -

“M-my hair?” he asked, his hand automatically rising to smooth it over. It wasn’t as long as it had been before the incident, but he’d certainly cut it shorter than this in the past. After the war. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you taking the piss, Potter?”

James shook his head and met his gaze, gesturing vaguely. **_Looks nice._ **

Draco was glad Blaise had left and there were no witnesses to this momentous occasion. His cheeks turned pink and he tried to remember how to accept compliments.

“Thank - thank.” That was what his brain decided on. Brilliant. James bit his lip to smother a grin and nodded decisively. When they moved on, they seemed to...move on.

**_Are you feeling better?_ **

“Hangover potions aren’t what they used to be, even my own - ”

 ** _No,_** James cut him off. **_You were sick. Months ago. Hair is better. Are you better?_**

“When - ” Draco frowned, charming his mug to float over the coffee table. There were no coasters because James was apparently an animal. “When was I sick?”

**_October._ **

“I most certainly was not.”

 ** _Yes,_** James insisted, eyes wide as if he thought Draco were a special kind of stupid.

“I’m a Healer, _Mr. Charming_ ,” he said mockingly. “I think I’d remember taking ill.”

 ** _You said…_** James hesitated, looking uncertain.

“I said what? That I’d sneezed my hair off?”

James cocked his head and squinted. He was every bit his photo in the Prophet last summer - the one in which he looked like a confused pigeon.

**_Not sick?_ **

“Why did you think I was sick?”

 ** _Hair,_** James explained weakly, ducking his head sheepishly.

“Do Muggles sneeze their hair off?”

**_No. Serious illness, hair loss._ **

“Oh - cancer!” Draco realized, recalling the month he’d studied strictly Muggle illnesses. “You thought I had Muggle cancer?”

 ** _Pale, bald, cranky,_** James added (unnecessarily, in Draco’s opinion). **_You looked sick._**

Draco stopped breathing for all of ten seconds as he considered how he must have been presenting himself to the world if someone thought he was dying of Muggle diseases. October wasn’t his proudest month, certainly, but had he really look so terrible? Why did Mum even let him out of the house like that?! When he returned to the Manor, he would be having serious words with the mirror in his wardrobe for this betrayal!

“You said I look better now?”

James nodded and Draco let out a sigh of relief before he added quickly, **_Your hair. Better._ **

“But the pale and cranky, that still stands?”

**_No worse than usual._ **

“Eat me, Potter.”

James flinched and Draco curled his lip while he made a mental note to look into a new tone-evening cream. His usual lot wasn’t doing him any favors, obviously.

**_Not sick?_ **

“No,” he snapped. “Shall we harp forever on the subject of how you find my appearance wanting?”

**_Not true._ **

“You’ve made it perfectly cl - ”

 **_Shut up._ ** James scrubbed a hand - one of those enticingly strong, warm-looking hands - over his stubbled jaw. **_You look fine._ **

“Just fine?”

 **_Most beautiful. Veela._ ** The words could have been sarcastic but he looked disgustingly earnest, which caused Draco to choke on his spit.

“You shut your - your hands - _now_ you’re taking the piss!”

James gave him a shit-eating grin and Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to throttle him or - or - or fly. He thought he might be able to manage it without a broom if his heart went any faster. He cursed Blaise for getting in his head. There was nothing _romantic_ about this meeting, he was simply trying to repair a friendship. A perfectly platonic friendship.

**_What happened to your hair?_ **

“Oh, what now?!” he cried in exasperation, halfway to conjuring a mirror before James continued:

**_October!_ **

“Weasel didn’t tell you?” Draco leaned forward. He felt sure Weasley would have given James a heads up about any attack that was meant to gather information on him. No wonder he wasn’t carrying his wand on him, he couldn’t know how serious the threat was if he hadn’t known about Draco’s attack!

Then again, Weasley hadn’t told Draco about the breakup either, preferring to let him stick his foot in his mouth instead.

Draco sat back as he felt something ease in his chest. James hadn’t asked about his hair because he hadn’t any clue what a traumatic ordeal he had experienced on his behalf. He’d assumed it was a _private_ medical issue. Before he could feel too silly for possibly overreacting in the fall, he launched into the tale. If anyone should have been witness to his pensieve memory, to his heroic defiance in the face of such danger, it should have been precious _Potter_.

But the story seemed to do the trick: James looked suitably impressed. Or was that panic?

**_Are you hurt?_ **

“No, you daft - do I look hurt?”

**_Are you in danger?_ **

“I suffered just the one incident and, before you ask, Blaise has been cleared of all suspicion by your little Auror friends. He was drugged to sleep in his office.”

James hardly looked satisfied with the reassurance. He surged to his feet, swayed dangerously, then seemed to think better of it and dropped back down onto the sofa. Draco snorted.

“A rousing performance of Gryffindor bravado,” he applauded. "Have you taken a hangover potion?"

James nodded. **_Yellow?_ **

"Yes - wait. You didn't take that mystery potion that showed up a few weeks ago, did you?" James pursed his lips and looked aside. "When?" he snapped.

**_Morning._ **

" _Precisely_ when?"

James shrugged, apparently unbothered by the prospect of a second poisoning. **_Ten?_ **

"What did it taste like?"

**_Sour grapes._ **

Draco did some quick calculations before relaxing a fraction. Correct taste. Four hours. Surely any poison masquerading so well as a hangover potion would have taken effect by now.

"You should be fine… But don't cut yourself open on any rogue Muggle technology today, just in case."

James nodded agreeably and Draco rallied himself to finally steer the conversation to more pressing matters.

"Why do you not want your memories back?" The question took him aback but he seemed to consider it carefully, as he had many of the tougher questions in their therapy sessions.

 ** _Bad feelings. Scared in my dreams. Wake up crying, bad feelings all day._** Depressive episodes brought on by daytime flashbacks, they'd touched on that in their earliest sessions.

"You don't want to invite it back in when it's already forcing the door open."

James blinked, then nodded slowly. He started to sign something but then changed his mind.

"You were never curious?" He couldn't imagine a world in which Harry Potter managed to curtail his own curiosity.

**_Hospital._ **

"When you woke up?"

**_Yes. First days. Wanted everything back. Wanted answers, explanation._ **

"When did you change your mind?"

 ** _Name._** Draco cocked his head and waited, his silence urging James to continue. **_Chose my name, felt better._**

"I imagine a few days without even a name would drive anyone mad - not that you were mad!" he added hastily at James's warning glance. "Only… It must have given you something familiar to latch onto."

**_Nightmares started. Flashbacks. Name was enough._ **

"And now?"

James deserted his empty mug on the coffee table and sat back, considering. **_Remember more. Understand nothing. Frustrating._ ** Draco waited and just when he thought his method of extracting more information wouldn't work this time, James went on. **_H-P would not let someone hurt his family. H-P would protect._ **

"Harry Potter had a savior complex the size of Hogwarts itself," Draco supplied. "Actually, the size of Europe." James looked sour. "Not always a bad thing." He took a breath. _Am I really doing this?_ "He saved my life once."

Green eyes met his and Draco felt his breath leave him, not for the first time. **_Fire._ **

He couldn't speak, so he nodded instead.

**_You want H-P to fix this?_ **

"That's a loaded question," he muttered. "It's not that easy. Potter didn't fix things, he charged in blind and made a bigger mess. He only had an extraordinary amount of luck and Granger's brains to make everything work out in his favor. For the most part." James sent an inquiring gesture. "He was human. He made mistakes. People died, he couldn't save everyone."

**_Not himself._ **

"He never seemed terribly interested in self-preservation. My mother saw him die, apparently. Did your friends tell you…?" He nodded stiffly. "Accepting those memories back won't change who you are now and they won't solve everything for you. It may help with your frustration, it may make your depression worse for a time. But Harry Potter..."

He swallowed against the inner voice that was screaming at him to shut up, to keep James Charming pure and separate from the Golden Git of Gryffindor.

"Harry Potter is a part of you, even now," he forced out. "You can try to lock him out, but he's in you. Not just a part of you, really, but he _is_ you. He never shied away from a challenge, and neither do you." He gestured vaguely around the flat to indicate, well, everything. His kids, his shop, his hard-won life.

 **_Not complete._ ** James's mouth tightened.

"You're not broken," he said adamantly, perhaps a bit antagonistically. "But you can be more than just scared and frustrated. And - " he grinned, feeling genuinely happy about this part for not entirely selfless reasons, " - you can keep James with you."

They said nothing for a long time. Then:

**_Okay._ **

"Okay?" he asked, not entirely believing it. James nodded resolutely before climbing to his feet, more slowly this time.

**_Need more tea first._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments mean the world to writers who are needy for validation. :)


	8. Sparks Fly!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's chocolate, wine, and FUDGE! Sparks will fly! (Literally!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dream about the day when this fic is done and I get to click that little box next to "Complete." Soon, my precious. Very soon.
> 
> This chapter spans a full month, but the first half is just one very long day. Hang in there, readers! I promise it's worth it.

**January 17th, 2011: Monday**

Aurors Ronald Weasley and Anthony Goldstein hadn't known the comfort of sleep in a week.

A week of escorting Harry to and from impossibly tedious private memory-recovery sessions at Malfoy Manor, hoping against hope that one of these attempts would finally shine a light on the mysterious event that had stolen him away twelve years ago. Between sessions, Ron and Tony pursued countless leads that poured in after any Daily Prophet article featured Harry's name, which reminded the public of the imminent danger their savior still faced. Every time they thought they were on top, they hit a wall. Prime suspects with perfect alibis. An eye witness with a greedy motive and a silver tongue. Even old blood evidence had disappeared from Ministry storage, leading them to one conclusion:

There was a mole in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

So they'd started interrogating their own - for who else could have gotten past the shop's wards to attack Harry? Who else could have broken into a guarded storage room and Vanished the blood samples that were collected from the crime scene twelve years ago? Who else could have planted and trained an eye witness that knew every detail of a confidential case? Tony was heading up most of the interviews between the Aurors and the rest of the Department, leaving Ron to tackle the Prophet-driven leads.

Ron had to admit that he’d be lost without his duty-driven, protocol-following, uptight-wanker of a partner.

And now the dynamic duo were pushing the limit on energy potions - even Malfoy had flashed a look of concern when he and Tony arrived with Harry that morning. But they were closing in and Ron could practically taste victory after twelve long years!

"Look, mate," he sighed, pulling hard on his own ear in an effort to keep his temper in check. "I get that it takes time and you can't identify anyone yet." He didn't think forcing another round of Malfoy's memory-recovery potions down Harry's throat right there in the Blue Parlor would go over too well, however tempting it was. "But if we just use a pensieve - "

"If you start extracting memories now, you'll only do more long-term damage," Malfoy snapped. Harry looked between them, torn. Ron knew he wanted to help but this half-testimony wouldn't do a lick of good if they couldn't even piece together a cohesive story.

"We already knew Mundungus Fletcher was on site," Tony said. He opted to stand at attention next to all the posh furniture rather than sit, though Ron could only guess how he managed it. Tony had been taking the energy potions for just as long as Ron and was looking just as ragged: his straw-yellow hair was dark, greasy, and unwashed, his face pale with overwork and stress, shiny and pocked. His voice carried the same tense, high whine that it had during their final Auror examinations nine years ago. "He survived a few hours but died in St. Mungo's before they could wake him up. Do you remember specifics - how many were there?"

 ** _Many,_** Harry said with a helpless shrug. **_Ten._**

"Are you certain?"

**_No._ **

“Auror Weasley,” Tony said in a quiet tone that still carried over to the others. “I don’t know how much of his statement we can take into consideration if - “

Ron pulled both ears; it was only a matter of time before they started steaming. " _Malfoy_ , gods, we need - "

"I don't know what you expected of this, Weasley," the Healer snapped. "Your own wife can tell you this is a process, and an imperfect one at that."

"Imperfect?" he spluttered. "It's no better than the random flashbacks he got before!"

 ** _Stop!_** Harry signed with a frown, his wand spewing forth the gold smoke in a testament to his rising temper. **_Prat! Much better than flashbacks._**

"Right!" Too aggressive. Ron forced a deep breath. "Sorry, mate. I'm sure those can be scary and all, but we - "

"We all know Aurors are the reigning experts on mental health," Malfoy interrupted in a clipped tone. He seemed to be preparing a long speech and Ron wanted to die.

"Please, you're right, I'm s - "

"They're known for reacting reasonably to situations such as a man opening a compartment door on a school train - "

"In their defense, Harry looked - "

"Wide-eyed and innocent, I agree," Malfoy continued loudly. "Unarmed and crippled, an obvious threat that should have been met with three wand-points, all perfectly reasonable, yes."

Silence fell and Tony shifted where he stood, fiddling with the series of gold snaps on the front of his Auror robe. Ron bit his tongue to keep himself from saying what Harry really looked like that day on the Hogwarts Express: wide-eyed and gasping, throwing open doors like a madman. They were right to respond with caution; Ron's only fault with his team was that two of the three were so easily disarmed.

"You're asking too many questions," Malfoy accused. "All these years investigating and you've never learned how to shut your gob and listen."

He turned to Harry, who sat beside him on the antique settee. Harry settled his gaze on the Healer, looking for all the world as if _Draco Malfoy_ was the one to trust implicitly. Nevermind the fact that he'd just mentioned a blond assailant in his fragmented memory of the incident…

"Just like our sessions this past autumn," Malfoy said, "I'd like you to lay it out as a narrative. Don't concern yourself with whether something may or may not be important to Weasel. Just talk me through what happened."

Harry jerked a nod, sending Malfoy some sort of significant look which was returned by the ferret in an equally significant way. Ron's addled brain couldn't spare the energy to contemplate these stupid looks because he was too busy taking note of Tony's anxious fidgeting.

"Settle," he grunted in his partner's direction. Tony's hands fell away from his robe snaps and clenched at his sides. Everyone took energy potions differently and Auror Goldstein, it seemed, was one who indulged his nervous ticks.

 **_Sunset_ ** , Harry began, resting his gaze in Malfoy's general direction. He was staring at the man's throat rather than making eye contact. **_D-M-L-E guard. No Auror robe._ **

Ron resisted the bureaucratic urge to confirm the guard's identity with Harry, already knowing who it was that had failed to protect his friend all those years ago. Bertram Norwood had shown promise in the final stages of the Auror training program but resigned in disgrace after Robards tore into him.

**_I threatened to use invisible cloak to hide every day if he did not leave._ **

Threatening to make some poor bastard's job more difficult just for spite - _Sounds like Harry_ , Ron thought.

**_He said he would see me at B-U-R-R-O-W. I planned to go to G-R-I-M-M-A-U-L-D. Did not tell him._ **

Ron rolled his eyes, knowing exactly how that conversation would've gone. _He meant it as an order, you prat._

**_Sat with my parents. Hour, two. Ground wet, trousers wet._ **

Vague memories flashed across Ron's mind - playing Quidditch obsessively for days and days at the Burrow. The sun shone bright all week. The sky was clear. The ground was dry and hard, providing a good kick off -

**_Air was thick. Hard to breathe. Wet._ **

Ron could just pull his own ear off, of _course_ Harry had gotten wrapped up in this! Prism’s most delicate ingredient - what could be considered the essence of magic itself, an ever-changing force that allowed the volatile potion its unique properties - was acquired by syphoning magical energy from the surrounding environment and instilling it into a crystal. The practice wasn’t illegal per se, but very few potions which required a crystal charged with pure magic. Hogwarts was a perfect source for the energy, though no one was stupid enough to try it under McGonagall’s nose. Diagon Alley was regularly patrolled for unnaturally humid spots, which indicated a recent syphoning. And Ron would wager that Potter Cottage, even in 1998, was still reeling from Voldemort’s initial demise.

**_Took a walk, found house. Hole in roof. Door open. Thought it would rain. Wanted to close door. Heard something, went inside._ **

_Of course you did._

**_Heard voices upstairs, back of house. Followed. Wand out._ **

_Well, at least you had some sense…_

**_Soft floor. Wet, rotted. Air thicker inside. D-U-N-G in nursery, stealing. Toys, photos, books in his bag. Working on crib. Yelled at him._ **

_You heard multiple voices but you stopped to wail at a petty thief!_ he thought incredulously, cursing Harry's temper.

**_Footsteps, shouting. Disarmed a woman, saw others coming. Ran._ **

_Apparate, you git!_ Ron mentally screamed.

**_C-O-N-F-R-I-N-G-O. Hip. Bottom of stairs. Surrounded. At least eight._ **

_Only six were recovered..._

**_D-U-N-G wanted to O-B-L-I-V-I-A-T-E. Old man said it can be broken, said no one would find my body. D-U-N-G begged. Middle-aged man cast O-B-L-I-V-I-A-T-E._ **

Harry broke off and scrubbed a hand over his jaw, knitting his brow as he tried to recall. Malfoy had warned them that this moment, the exact moment of Obliviation, would likely remain disjointed from the rest of that night. Harry was striving to cram together his brittle memories of two separate events, two separate lives.

Tony snapped and unsnapped the fixtures on his robe loudly and Ron wanted to punch him.

 **_C-R-U-C-I-O. Questions. Where are you, what did you see, who are we, how many, what did you see. Again, again, again. Blood everywhere. Throat hurt. I could not answer the questions. Did not know my name. Did not know who they were. Knew where I was. Wanted to see…_ ** Harry's face screwed up in a telling way and Ron looked away. He desperately wanted to allow Harry some privacy but they needed his testimony. **_Red hair._ **

Malfoy glanced at Ron, who frowned. _Ginny…?_

**_Mum._ **

For years, that image would haunt Ron, whose fondest memories included bringing Harry home to the Burrow. Harry, his oldest and truest friend, the lad he followed into battle: slipping and writhing in a pool of blood on the floor of his parents' home. Dazed and disoriented, without even his name, but still just wanting what he'd come looking for that night, what he'd wanted his whole life.

Tony missed a snap and the sound of metal scraping against metal broke through Ron's thoughts. He sent a deadly look at his twitchy partner, who grimaced and brought his hands back down.

**_Someone saw something outside. Blond boy said something. Heard cracks. A-P-P-A-R-A-T-E. Stealing. Old man leaned over me, I saw my wand in his robe. Grabbed it._ **

Harry hesitated again, shoving his hand forward as if he were reaching into an invisible man's pocket. His fingers curled around an imaginary wand before pulling back to sign:

**_A-C-C-I-O  N-A-I-L-S._ **

Tony flinched and went for his robe's buttons again. The old photos taken by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement forensics team had been a grisly sight. Five bodies were left in the house after Fletcher was rushed to St. Mungo's. The bodies were crushed and broken by the collapsed house, oozing in horrible ways, their flesh riddled with the old nails that had once held Potter Cottage together.

**_A-P-P-A-R-A-T-E. Sick. Sleep._ **

"You splinched yourself," Malfoy declared after a long pause. Ron blinked rapidly. Of all the things to take away from this story - "You Apparated under duress, probably without fully understanding what you were doing. Your throat hurt and you left a part of it behind. Your larynx."

 ** _Throat hurt less,_** Harry said, nodding slowly.

"You don't have a voice box at all?" Ron asked. That wasn't in the file. _Larynx trauma_ was listed in the file, they'd long since assumed it was an attempt to keep him quiet. Harry shook his head. "So why - I mean, does it still bother you? Does it still hurt?" He brought his hand to his own throat, pressing against it in the way he'd seen Harry do sometimes. Harry ducked his head, scrunching his face.

"Phantom pain," Malfoy said in that official Healer way he had. "You can read up on it if you'd like, it's fairly common. More so with amputees but you've always been exceptional." Malfoy blanched and rushed to say, "The exception to every rule, I mean. The odd one. Freakish, if you will."

Harry gave a pleased sort of smile before turning to Ron.

**_Cannot remember faces. Blond boy, my age. Wide shoulders, light blue robe, brown shoes. Top of shoes made of two types of leather, yellow stitches._ **

Ron took a series of quick notes, cursing Tony for just standing there, pale and jittery, looking ready to keel over. Too far gone, the useless git.

**_Young woman had brown hair, long, curly, wore nice robes, dark purple. Large eyes. Young man, brown hair. Small face, mouth. Crooked trousers, new boots. Others were older. Remember very little._ **

"Could be that you'd seen the younger ones before, that they were familiar," Malfoy theorized. Ron made a note, forcing the cotton out of his head. Good, yes, the ferret was making sense...

"Maybe you knew them in school," he interjected. "Two men, a blond and a brunet, and a woman with long, curly, brown hair."

"Can you imagine any house colors you might associate with those three?" Malfoy asked.

 ** _Black robes,_** Harry began hesitantly. He looked up at Malfoy sheepishly as he signed, **_Green tie for the man with brown hair. I think._**

Malfoy smirked and said mirthlessly, "Figures. And the others? The older witches and wizards, what do you remember of their appearances?"

 **_Black robes, green robes, red scarf and hat_ ** , Harry rambled, hunching his shoulders in a perpetual shrug. **_Boots, trainers. Old man, white hair, short beard. Not clear. Remember what happened but details are not clear._ **

"Alright, alright," Ron grumbled as he noted the miniscule clues. "I get it, it's all a blur."

**_Less blurry now._ **

"Got it," he snapped. _Malfoy's your knight in shining ferret fur for bringing your memories back._ Honestly, the way he looked at him, like _Malfoy_ was the one trying to save his arse... "Those three young ones you mentioned, we don't have anything in the file matching their descriptions. Could be that they got away before the collapse, when you heard those Apparition pops. And we've got more to go on for the blond assailant so that's where we'll start looking until it's safe to use a pens - Tony, for shit's sake, stop fussing with it!" Tony dropped his hands away from his robe, clutching them together in front of him in a white-knuckle grip. "Merlin's bollocks, go home and sleep!" Ron ordered.

Tony hesitated before stalking over to the doorway. He looked back at them as if he would say something but then he simply turned and left, muttering something about sending a letter to his mother.

That was the last time Ron saw Auror Anthony Goldstein alive.

* * *

 

The Aurors had gone, after promising to send over their most sullen guard, Auror Mendel, and ordering Draco to keep the savior safe for a few hours in the meantime. James soon declared his head buzz-free, indicating that Draco's special combination of potions and charm had worn off.

That morning marked their fifth session. The first two had brought up a daunting mess of childhood horrors to work through - Draco would never look at a cupboard the same way again - and the last two had been a hodgepodge of school hijinks. This latest one, against his better instincts and with Weasley and Goldstein standing by, Draco reluctantly asked James to meditate on his past experiences with pain and trauma.

Goldstein promptly tried to steamroll through James's rambling recollection of the Triwizard Tournament until Draco threatened to hex his rectum inside out. The fucking Ministry could afford an hour or two for James to reconcile some stray pieces of his shattered past. This morning had not been an easy one for the man; he'd recalled far too much pain and death, but he seemed to be holding up well enough.

"How's the new hire?" Draco asked, observing him over his cup of tea.

He was tapping his cane again, face pale, eyes dark. Draco wondered idly if he had recovered the memory of the Golden Trio's incarceration in Malfoy Manor. The Blue Room was brightly lit and its color scheme couldn't be more different from the west wing where Potter and his friends had been brought as captives, but sometimes the smell of a place was what triggered memories rather than the sight of it. What did Malfoy Manor smell like? Impressive or dungy? He made a mental note to pick up some incense from Diagon Alley. Something fresh and crisp, something that wouldn't remind anyone of the war.

 ** _Still happy,_** James replied. **_Still smiling._**

"Still pregnant?"

James stopped tapping his cane and shot him a dark look. Draco shrugged.

"Embrace the hero within you, Potter," he said with a smirk. "It suits you." _In a tacky Gryffindor sort of way._

 **_I am looking for a new chair_** , James said. **_Stool is not good for her._ **

"How far along is she?"

**_I think six months._ **

The Muggle woman James had hired to mind the shop was around James's age and Draco chose not to torture himself over the fact that he was relieved to learn she was married. The Gryffindor ponce had enough gallantry in him that Draco feared he could get overly attached to a suitably sympathetic prospect, and six-months-along Beatrice had the same happy-go-lucky attitude that Gibbs had used to reel James in.

Draco wouldn't see it happen again. James deserved better than a happy idiot.

But no matter - she was married. James had mentioned this past week that her husband Bobby or Robby or Knobby worked at a restaurant across town and was happy that his wife was able to find a job closer to home. A job with a boss that was all too sympathetic, Draco thought, to the stresses of pregnancy and money; a boss that was always willing to listen to her endless, prattling stories, while Draco lingered at the edge of the shop counter like a dunce -

 ** _She is nice,_** James said with a warning look. **_Happy is good._**

"Please, I am a Mind Healer on the forefront of my profession," he said with his best scoff. "I wouldn't presume to judge someone who is happy." _Except to say they're rather stupid to be quite that happy when they can hardly pay the bills._

As if he'd heard his mental quip, James cocked his head and raised his brows mockingly. **_Do you want to work the counter?_ **

"Certainly not!" he spat, though the proximity to all that warm, sweet chocolate was tempting. As it was, he could hardly limit himself to one or two visits a week.

 **_Jealous, Draco?_ ** James signed. Draco nearly dropped his tea.

"What was that?"

**_What?_ **

"That sign you just did, instead of spelling out my name. How did you do that?"

James smirked, looking positively...Slytherin. He repeated the sign slowly, eyes sparkling. Draco recognized it as very similar to one of the alphabet signs: his left pointer was extended with his right pointer and thumb curved into it, forming a visual approximation of the letter D. But then the right hand made a small leap forward off of the left.

"Yes, that! What is that?" he said again.

**_Your sign language name._ **

"My what?" Was sign language so advanced that it already had a word for Draco?

**_I made a sign to use instead of D-R-A-C-O. Wand knows my intent. Translates new word. Watch. First part, letter D…_ **

He demonstrated the first part of the sign again and Draco felt a flutter in his chest as he practiced it for himself. A sign of his very own, one that James had thought to create himself! Anything James Charming put his brilliant hands on turned to gold, he knew, and this would be no different than the box of constellation chocolates. It would be perfect. Draco would treasure it.

 ** _Second part…_** James formed the letter D again and brought the curved part out, landing a few inches from his left pointer.

 **_Draco._ ** Draco repeated the full sign a few times. **_Draco. Draco. Draco._ ** It felt like his fingers were finding their home. He thought he might be bothered to learn a few more signs now that he had his own name to start -

 ** _Penis._** James grinned broadly as his wand translated the random crudeness. Draco blinked and James said it again: **_Penis._**

"What?"

James lifted his fingers higher, repeating the sign slowly. **_Penis._ ** With a start, Draco realized it was extremely similar to his own. **_Penis._ ** James pressed his right pointer and thumb to the underside of his left pointer, then brought them out in the same motion he had just used in Draco's name. **_Penis. Penis. Penis. Draco._ **

"You!" He hadn't come up with something new and profound and _beautiful!_ He'd just combined the letter D with the sign for penis! "You - I can't - Hades take you, Potter!"

James fell back against the settee, cackling silently. **_Penis. Draco. Penis. Draco._**

* * *

 

 ** _Remember watching your dot on the map,_** James recalled fondly. **_Remember walking into a suit of armor._**

Draco snorted in a very non-Draco way, taking another sip of the fine Elvish vintage. His hair was loose, the gel or serum or potion or whatever he usually used to coif it carefully was wearing off now as night approached morning. James thought it looked nice. He thought it might be soft if he touched it. He set his own glass aside, feeling plenty buzzed and not looking forward to the side-along Apparition home. Auror Rachel Mendel was glaring sleepy daggers at them from the far corner of the Manor's kitchen but James couldn't be arsed. He hadn't asked for a body-guard.

 ** _You left me behind in the forest!_** James accused. **_Unicorn blood! Left me to get eaten!_**

"Oh please!" Draco scoffed. "You're not as tasty as unicorn blood!" Rachel squinted in confusion from her corner, unable to read James's smoke and only able to hear what Draco practically shouted.

 ** _Hermione slapped you. Never forgot._** It was one of his most treasured memories.

"But - but..." Draco was far more drunk than James. He was rather handsy, too. Smiling stupidly, James let Draco reach across the table to latch onto both of his wrists. It felt nice. His long pale fingers were strong but soft. He thought those nimble fingers could have the potential to do some brilliant work in the proper setting.

In a kitchen, for example. Certainly nowhere else.

"But d'you remember..." Draco paused again to smother a small belch, "...Myrtle's bathroom?" Grey eyes met green like they had years ago...in a grimy mirror.

James tried to pull back but Draco tightened his grip. He hesitated, then dropped his gaze to study those pale hands as he let himself remember....

 _Lay it out as a narrative,_ Draco's sober voice told him.

_Grey eyes meet green in the mirror and Draco whirls around. He's young. So young. Skinny. His school uniform hangs off of him in a pitiful way, his eyes are bloodshot, his jaw clenched._

_He's angry._

_Harry's scared, angry - it's so natural to be angry in his presence - and a tiny bit concerned._

_Draco snarls, like he always does. He raises his wand against Harry, like he's done a dozen times in their twisted past._

_A hex - the lamp next to him shatters._

_A jinx - Draco blocks it._

_A curse - the cistern explodes, Myrtle screams, Harry slips and Draco -_

_"Cruci - "_

_"SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

James tried again to pull back, to wrench himself away, but Draco clung to his hands. Even now, James could almost see the cuts forming on his lithe chest, the blood seeping through his shirt, pooling on the ground - Myrtle was screaming - Snape -

"You remember?"

James nodded, his vision swimming. He was dimly aware of Rachel sighing impatiently.

"I'm sorry."

James blinked, shaking his head frantically. A sick feeling in his stomach told him that it was over now, that this incident was the source behind Draco's constant undercurrent of ire against him, told him that James couldn't fix what Harry had done. _Don't be sorry,_ he pleaded internally. Draco wouldn't let go of his hands, wouldn't give him a chance to explain. _Don't do this, don't hate me for what he did! That's not me anymore!_

"I was so angry..." Draco swallowed thickly, not looking up from James's hands. "You stalked me all bloody year and then you - you saw - "

_"What did you see? How much did you see?!"_

_"Nothing - please!"_

_"Go another round, Tank. I'll bet you break through this time."_

_"No, I swear! I don't know who y - "_

_"Crucio!"_

James gave himself another sharp shake of the head, focusing on here and now. On their hands. On Draco.

"I lost it. I'm sorry." His voice was breathy, like he couldn't quite harness his voice. His chest lay against the table top and he looked...gutted. James tried to pull his hands free, to tell Draco _he_ was sorry, to tell him that he hadn't known what that spell did and hadn't even given a second thought before - "No, Potter...you don't get to say anything this time. You talk too much." Draco smirked weakly at him, still hunching low over the table, and James frowned.

 _I talk too much?_ he thought, bristling.

"Are you two quite finished?" Rachel called over, twirling her wand across nimble fingers. James watched the trick for a moment, feeling dizzy. Maybe he'd had too much fine Elvish vintage because he could've sworn she muttered, "Owe Zabini ten Galleons..."

Draco tapped his wrist before finally releasing his hands. In clumsy, slow movements, he signed:

**_She. No. Penis._ **

James snorted. Draco grinned wickedly.

**_Me. Big. Penis._ **

He cringed and thunked his head against the table, refusing to witness this travesty.

"Potter, look," Draco giggled as he nudged his shoulder insistently. "Potter, look! Potter! Potty!"

James shook his head.

He made an indignant, cawing sound. "You're the rudest! Here I am, I'm...pouring my shriveled Slytherin heart out to you, and you - you soppy little _Gryffindor_ \- you can't even...can't even...you can't do whatever it is I just asked you to do."

But James had already lifted his head and was gazing at Draco in delayed wonder. Surely he was imagining things.

"And - and after I deigned to share my finest Elvish vintage with you - "

Surely all those memory potions were just messing with his head, or the wine really was distorting his hearing.

"Invited you into my home, sedated my dear father, opened my kitchen to you - "

 _I'm sorry,_ he'd said.

" - shared my wine!"

Malfoys don't share, and they don't apologize.

"You're simply rude, is what you are. No manners to _speak_ of." He laughed at his own cheap dig. "Did you catch that? Potter? I said, to _speak_ of!"

James met Draco's eye before he went on forever. He moved his closed fist in a circle on his chest. **S** **_orry._ **

Draco abruptly froze in his rambling, staring at him with something akin to horror.

**_Did not know spell. S-E-C-T-U-M-S-E-M-P-R-A. Sorry. Please. Sorry. Followed you. Hurt you. Sorry._ **

Draco shook his head, working up a scowl to mimic how he'd looked that day in the mirror. He fumbled his wine glass, spilling some of the fine Elvish vintage. Still shaking his head and scowling fiercely, he leaned forward to trap James's hands once more.

"Potty, stop. I mean it. You're drunk. Stop...stop moving around over there. All swirly and...and yappy. Flappy. Like a drunk squid, is what you are."

James moved to protest and Draco nearly wrenched him across the table to crush his lands against his warm chest.

"For once in your miser'ble - _ugh,_ just stop talking."

* * *

 

**January 20th, 2011: Thursday Morning**

James turned the paper over and surreptitiously slid it into the utensil drawer, where Rachel wouldn’t have to see it again. His regular rotation of bodyguards was looking particularly drawn lately. The case was taking a toll on the comparatively small Auror squad while the rest of the DMLE struggled to pick up the slack. The extended hours were brutal, sometimes extending into triple or quadruple shifts, however much he insisted he didn’t need a bodyguard now that he could recall how to use his wand properly. At least he was taking the threat seriously now, though Ron had nearly rolled his eyes right out of his head when he realized that James's newfound interest in the case was mostly due to Draco's October attack.

On top of increasingly violent Prism raids, a rising blood purist movement in the south, and anti-werewolf rhetoric turning into dozens of cases of harassment, the Ministry now had to contend with disappearance of Auror Anthony Goldstein.

James could remember a deluded time in his life, just after the war, when he imagined nothing else for his future than to crush the three year Auror training program, graduate with an honor or two, and work forever with Ron at his side. They would wear the blood red robes with the shiny gold clasps, sporting matching badges and custom wrist holsters. He’d marry Ginny, wait a few years before having kids, and spend every Sunday at the Burrow. He certainly never thought he’d be a humble chocolatier as Ron ran himself ragged to keep him safe while his Auror partner - some Ravenclaw James barely remembered from school - vanished without a trace.

Rachel was close to Tony, though she kept a stiff - almost steel - upper lip. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat braid and her robes were recently pressed. She, like Tony, always made an effort to be presentable. But her eyes were sad, her voice was hoarse, and she was prone to snap at him for the silliest things.

“Just use the spell,” she rasped, flicking her wand. The grater in his hand came to life and started shredding the chocolate bar he was working on.

 ** _No magic in kitchen,_** he signed, but his wand was in his pocket so she didn’t understand. He snatched the grater and chocolate out of the air, nearly skinning himself on the sharp teeth of the tool.

“You’ll cut yourself again.” _One little scratch in December and no one will let it go…_

A noise from the alley sent Rachel rocketing to her feet, but James carried on with his work.

 ** _Cat,_** he said carelessly, maintaining his grip even as he signed. **_Rubbish bins._**

“Stay here. Wand at the ready.” He nodded but didn’t pull his wand until she sent a stinging hex his way. He ducked, knicking his finger on the grater, and swore silently even as he whipped out his wand.

She disappeared through the back door of the kitchen, leaving it ajar. James waited a moment as the frigid air cut through the heat of the stove behind him. He felt like an idiot, standing there in the kitchen with his wand out and his finger bleeding, before he finally gave up on her mission and dug around for a flannel to wrap his finger. He could still hear Rachel rummaging through the bins - or more likely using magic to levitate the rubbish around.

A feral hiss and, seconds later, an ear-splitting meow rang out in the alley. There was a series of crashes and swears, and James smirked.

Rachel arrived in the doorway at the same time that Anne appeared at the window with a bundle of letters. Rachel - chest heaving, hair wild, and a nasty stain spreading across her perfect robes - flicked her wand to let the owl inside.

“Leave the mail,” she ordered. “I need a shower.” James wisely kept his hands quiet as she marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs, grumbling under her breath.

He knew he was being a bit reckless with these safety precautions, just as Harry had been before this mess. He knew it was probably prudent to have an Auror around, however annoying it was to have a nanny forced on him every hour of the day. He knew he should have pulled his wand without prompting, probably even followed Rachel out to investigate the noise in case she needed backup, but his old mulish attitude was hard to kill.

Then again, he thought he’d matured enough over the years to follow at least one measly order from an overwrought Auror, so he obliged and left the mail on the table until she could check it for tampering.

He turned back to the stove and began to add the finely grated chocolate bits to the glass bowl that sat over a steaming pot. To get the temper just right, he had to heat the chocolate carefully, slowly, evenly. He kept his digital thermometer in the thick of it while stirring methodically. He was working on a special batch of chocolate-coated fudge - a new recipe for Draco to evaluate before Valentine's Day - and he didn't want to waste the imported ingredients.

The acrid stench of burning reached his nose and he panicked for a moment, lifting the glass bowl to peer underneath for any signs of damage. None. He had a batch of chestnuts roasting in the oven, but as he poked through them with a spat, he couldn't find any char at all. The fudge was cooling in the fridge. So what was burning?

"Potter, _get down!"_

James dropped the oven door as he threw himself on the tile floor, hissing when the hot door flapped down against his arm. Rachel ducked behind the island counter with him just as the room lit up, searing white light blinding them for a long moment in which time seemed to stop. Silence, as if time really had stalled, and then a horrendous, rumbling _crack_ of thunder tore through the kitchen. His ribs reverberated with the force of it. The light fixture overhead popped, raining down glass, and he ducked his head under the open oven door, pulling Rachel down with him.

From the cramped little space between the floor and the oven flap, he twisted his head up to peer cautiously through the little tinted window. The room flashed again, somehow even brighter than before. Rachel swore under the din of thunder and threw up a strong shield charm just as a bolt of lightning shot into the ceiling over their heads, breaking up and forking in every direction. A bolt of white-hot light darted toward the oven over James's head, but it hit the shield and fizzled out.

Another round hurled more lightning into the ceiling. Bolts cracked at random into the floor, breaking up the clean white tiles and sending fire into James's veins while Rachel summoned shield after shield.

 _Expecto patronum!_ he incanted silently as yet another ruthless flash tore through his once pristine kitchen. He thought of the little wire stag that Alec had given to him that Christmas and then suddenly Prongs himself erupted from his wand, as bright as the lightning overhead. _Get Ron!_ he thought desperately, and Prongs was off.

He used his own shield charms to buffer against the currents in the floor while Rachel defended them from the storm raging overhead. It was only minutes before Ron arrived with a full squadron of Aurors, but it seemed like an eternity. They hadn't even quelled the storm before they tossed an emergency Portkey over to Rachel and whisked James away to the Ministry.

* * *

 

Two hours later, he was discharged from St. Mungo's with a nerve tonic and a calming draught, though he wasn't particularly nervous. Jittery, certainly, but that was more from the excess of magical electricity that had his hair standing on end. Draco begged off work early to escort him to the Manor, where he would stay for the next week or so while the crime scene in his kitchen was sorted. The man laughed maniacally as he ran his hands through James's sky-scraping tresses.

He would have preferred his beloved kitchen in tact and his special batch of chocolate-coated fudge in Draco's mouth to shut him up, but he thought having those long fingers in his hair was some consolation.

* * *

 

_Alec and Arthur,_

_A piece of tampered mail got through and the kitchen took some damage, so try to ration your last care package until further notice. Everything's okay but I have to bring in a magical contractor to fix the damage. I don't think a Muggle will take "I received a small electrical storm in the post" as a viable explanation. It comes as good timing since Beatrice wants to visit her mum, so she's taking some paid time off while we get it sorted. Bully for her but my kitchen's a mess and I've half a mind to hunt down the bugger what did it._

_Keep your eye on the Prophet in case I'm arrested for murder._

_Love,  
_ _Dad_

* * *

 

**January 21st, 2011: Friday**

_Dad,_

_Someone sent you an electrical storm in the post? HOW?_

_Alec_

_PS - When you catch them, invite them over to play Power Grid so I can have a challenge._

* * *

 

[Voicemail: Message from Saturday, January 22nd, 1:21pm]  
_"James,_ [static] _about the kitchen destroyed? When_ [static] _your bacon? Text me back_ [static] _Allison's, you stubborn trout."_

* * *

 

"Fascinating," Draco said, turning the mobile over in his hands as Monty's garbled message played on speaker for the third time. "A clever little device, but it doesn't seem to work very well. Floo's still better by a long shot."

 **_Magic interferes_** , James explained, watching him examine the little buttons. Draco pressed a button experimentally and recoiled slightly when the mobile emitted a loud beep. James had been staying at the Manor all week while "a discrete and certified team" dealt with his kitchen. As he watched Draco flip the phone closed and open, closed and open, he dreaded to think what damage a team of Ministry wizards would do to his tried and true Muggle appliances.

"Make it do something," Draco ordered imperiously, shoving the phone back at him. He rolled his eyes and let Draco peer over his shoulder as he composed a quick message to Monty.

[outgoing text to: Monty]  
_All ok. Open next Thurs._

"But how d'you summon those letters when you're touching a number button? How does it _know_ you want the letters? Is it sentient?"

Grinning like a loon, James opened a blank text to no one and proceeded to teach Draco Malfoy, the current heir to the Malfoy-Black fortunes, how to text.

* * *

 

_Dad,_

[a large block of scratched out ink]

_Black Widow's scared of storms now, she won't go out in the rain. I guess this message will just get to you when she's feeling better._

_Arthur_

_PS - Monty's right and you need to stop using your name in the paper to make people mad. How come you're always on my back for fighting upper years in primary but you're picking fights with all these dark wizards?_

* * *

 

**February 1st, 2011: Tuesday Afternoon**

"More tea, Mr. Char - I mean, James?"

Mr. James nodded but didn't say please, which was not polite, but sometimes it was even less polite to tell people they were not polite, so Scorpius let it go.

For now.

He poured him a fresh cup and settled back into his chair at the head of the table. He noticed Mr. James didn't bother to say thank you either, but before he could think of how to broach the topic of these ill manners, Daddy changed the subject.

They were talking about work, mostly. Scorpius tried to keep up. Somehow it had to do with school, which wasn't the same as work, not according to Mummy. Mr. James's wand was spewing out smoke a mile a minute.

**_You grabbed my broom to slow me down!_ **

"And I'd do it again!" Daddy proclaimed. "For the honor of Slytherin!"

"Here here!" Scorpius toasted, raising his green and silver teacup ceremoniously. Daddy toasted too, but Mr. James didn't, which was - "Rude..." he grumbled under his breath.

"Did you say something, Scorpius?" Daddy asked him, for all the world to hear.

"Er - "

"I think you did. Care to share? Malfoys don't mumble."

 _Speak up!_ Grandfather was always quick to bark. Scorpius shuddered and sneaked a peak at the door to ensure the grumpy old lout wasn't around.

"Actu'lly, it's for my ears only."

"Then it should stay between them."

Mr. James was studying both of them closely and Scorpius felt his face heat up.

"Okay..." It seemed like that would be enough to keep him out of trouble, but sometimes words decided to spill out of Scorpius's mouth without consulting him first: "Only - you're not being very mannerly, Mr. James. Manners matter."

Mr. James looked a bit stunned. It was a pitiful sight at his tea table and Scorpius decided take the man under his wing, so to speak.

"You should always say please and thank you," he began. "And right now, your mouth is open, that's gross. No one wants to count your teeth. And you're staring. You're all slouched over too. Sit straight!" He clapped his hands twice like Grandmum did sometimes and was pleased to see Mr. James shoot straight up in his seat.

Daddy ruined it by snorting and laughing, though he tried to smother it with his napkin.

 ** _Who taught you manners?_** Mr. James asked with his hands.

Scorpius answered, "Mummy," just as Daddy said, "I did." Now Mr. James was hiding his laugh.

**_A-S-T-O-R-I-A?_ **

"Mummy says Daddy was a rude little lout when he was my age," Scorpius informed the table. Daddy made a weird squeaky sound but Mummy was the one who had said the word, after all, so Scorpius couldn't get in trouble for repeating it. "She said he always got what he wanted but he didn't make the friends he needed." Scorpius liked that line. It sounded important and it always made Daddy turn pink.

**_Do you like your father's friends?_ **

"Mr. Blaise is nice. Ms. Pansy is a bit loud for my tastes." It was another thing he'd heard Grandmum say, but she was married to Grandfather, who shouted all the time, so maybe she just didn't like Ms. Pansy.

**_Your mother is right. In school, I did not want to be friends with Draco -_ **

The moment his name came out of the wand, Daddy threw his napkin over Mr. James's hands! Scorpius was horrified - this was tea time, not a Quidditch match! - but Mr. James threw the napkin back and went on, seeming to enjoy emphasizing Daddy's name for some reason.

 **_Draco was very rude. Draco called people stupid._ ** Mr. James frowned quite seriously and Daddy looked appropriately chagrined.

"Well, sometimes they _were_ rather - "

"No!" Scorpius said, brandishing his spoon in warning.

"No, yes, you're right," he sighed. "People are not stupid. They just don't know any better yet." Scorpius nodded in satisfaction and Mr. James expression lifted into the same teasing smile that Mummy used.

**_Draco used bad words._ **

"I'll thank you not to repeat them at tea," he said with dignity, though he was burning with curiosity. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Mr. James told him those words outside of tea time…

"Did anyone ever tell you it's impolite to tattle on others?" Daddy said as he sipped his teacup.

 ** _Draco tattled on me,_** Mr. James added. **_More than once._**

"I never!"

**_H-A-G-R-I-D's dragon._ **

"That lunatic was keeping a _fire-breathing_ dragon in a _wooden_ hut!"

"A real dragon?" Scorpius gasped. "But, you love dragons! His name means dragon, you know," he told their guest. "He's got dragons on his bed."

**_Really?_ **

Scorpius nodded. "Mine means scorpion, but I don't like scorpions as much as Daddy likes dragons and I don't want any on my bed."

 **_You are smart._ ** Scorpius preened as Mr. James leaned in conspiratorially. **_Draco challenged me to a duel then told F-I-L-C-H I was out of bed. Too scared!_ **

"I wasn't _scared_ , I never intended to duel! It was a cunning ploy to knock points off Gryffindor and help Slytherin pull ahead."

Scorpius raised his teacup feebly but couldn't quite bring himself to toast to Slytherin this time.

 ** _Next time fight a dark lord,_** Mr. James said with a funny grin. **_You will win the House Cup._**

"By ten points!" Daddy's voice went high like it sometimes did when he was upset, but he was grinning too.

**_Victory!_ **

"Excuse me!" Scorpius snapped. "We're s'posed to talk about manners!"

 ** _I am sorry,_** Mr. James said sheepishly. Daddy cleared his throat and looked down, ashamed. Then they both shared a little smile that Scorpius could clearly see, so obviously they hadn't learned their lesson at all!

"You're both rude," he announced. "Daddy, you better not tattle or say bad words no more, or I'll tell Grandmum on you."

Mr. James looked like he was about to say something and Scorpius started in on him before he could.

"And you, Mister! You're tattling too! A lot! And you're still all slouchy and you still haven't said thank you!"

Mr. James blinked dumbly, glancing at Daddy for a moment before looking back at his host. **_Sorry. Thank you for the tea. Delicious._ **

Scorpius raised his chin meaningfully, his hands itching to clap again, but Mr. James took the hint and straightened up without the reminder. Scorpius nodded, satisfied, and poured them all some more tea. He was seven-years-old now and had a lot to teach these unmannerly cads. _Such children,_ his inner voice sighed.

* * *

 

**February 6th, 2011: Sunday**

_Monty - s_ _till no luck. Keep writing & texting, he'll get his head out of his arse soon!!! _

_Arty_

* * *

 

**February 7th, 2011: Monday**

_Arthur,_

_Seems it should be even easier to watch your language when it's written on the page in front of you, what do you think?_

_How's spring term? Did you get Hagrid to show you the invisible horses yet? Allison and Trace say hi but they don't know about magic so they're not too keen on Lucy after they found a feather in the pudding. Al's not been writing back, is he mad at me? Don't pick on him, just tell him I love him and leave him be._

_Love,  
_ _Monty_

* * *

 

 _Dad - god just write Monty back. He wants to fix things and you're not even helping. Pull your head out of your_ [scratched out ink] [scratched out ink] _arse._

_Arthur_

* * *

 

_Arthur,_

_I know you're angry and I'm sorry for putting you kids through this, but sometimes it's best to just move on. That's selfish and I'm sorry, but I have to do it anyway._

_I love you._

_Dad_

[enclosed: small box of crunchy hazelnut praline snaps, small box of salted caramel fudge]

* * *

 

**February 13th, 2011: Sunday**

_Dad,_

_How's memory-hunting going? Got any new embarrassing stories for us? Did you ever kiss a girl before Mum?_

_Alec_

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_Why? Are you curious about kissing girls?_

_Dad_

* * *

 

_Dad,_

_Don't turn this into a Thing, just answer the question._

_Alec_

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_I kissed two girls before your mum, including Ginny. Wanted to kiss a few boys but never got the courage. HP is a coward._

_Dad_

[enclosed: large box of soft burnt caramel truffles]

* * *

 

_Dad,_

_I reckon you won't up my allowance without something in return so instead I'm just going to sell your last letter to the Prophet._

_Alec_

_PS - When did you first think about kissing any girls or boys?_

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_I think Quidditch and that whole dark lord thing skewed my interests. It's perfectly fine to think about kissing in first year._

_Dad_

_PS - Don't go kissing someone just to show me up, son. Wait until fifth year._

* * *

 

_Dad,_

_Why what happened in fifth year?_

_Al_

* * *

 

_Alec,_

_We got in a fight on the Quidditch pitch and I got to touch his arse._

_Dad_

* * *

 

_Draco,_

_Can I take you to lunch tomorrow? You choose the place. Somewhere with magic so I can use the translator._

_James_

[enclosed: sample box of ginger and wasabi truffles]

* * *

 

**February 14th, 2011: Monday**

"It was amicable," Draco told him over pasta.

 **_Friends?_ ** James felt exposed when using his wand in public like this, but they were in a relatively secluded corner of a moderately priced restaurant off Diagon and though it was packed, no one, Draco insisted, was staring at him.

"We're on excellent terms," he said. "We entered into the marriage with an understanding. I needed an heir. She wanted legal ties to our vaults. Even after the divorce, she has some claim to my family's wealth. It funds her private ventures, seeing as no one else would take her seriously enough to sponsor her."

**_Why?_ **

"Because she's a young, pretty Pureblood girl," Draco said flippantly. "They like to see her at those posh academic galas in dress robes with her hair nicely done, but they won't bother to read her work."

**_You sponsor her?_ **

"I provide private funds in exchange for - services rendered?" James scrunched his face in disgust and Draco, thankfully, seemed to agree. "Awful phrasing. It was an understanding, anyway. We were and still are on perfectly good terms. And she's not a terrible lay, for a girl. She let me - "

 ** _Do you prefer women?_** James felt his carbonara turn to cement in his stomach.

"Who in seven hells told you - " he cried, recoiling as if the idea offended him. "Girls are - no, I'm - I'm very gay, thank you."

James felt his face break into a cheeky grin and the cement morphed back into pasta.

**_Nice to meet you very gay, I am James._ **

"I thought you were the Bi-Who-Lived?"

James laughed and sipped his wine. He couldn't say whether it was white or red wine, as he hadn't looked down at his glass in ages.

"So what's your sign name? I missed it."

James repeated it: with his right pinky-finger extended, he dipped his wrist in a sharp swoop. **_James._ **

"But that's not the alphabetical letter J, is it?"

**_American J._ **

"Traitor!"

 ** _Makes me feel fancy._** James lifted his wine glass - it was white wine, he saw now - and extended his pinky-finger daintily.

"How're the boys?"

The mood turned somber, but James swallowed the urge to change the subject. Those words from the woman on the telly, long ago, rang in his head: _if you can only share what makes you happy, you'll be stuck with half a relationship._ He wasn't Draco's significant other or anything, not by a long shot, but he was through doing things halfway. His friendship was good for James and James would lay himself bare if that's what it took to make a good thing better.

**_Arthur is angry. Very angry with me. Wants me to be with Monty._ **

"That's to be expected..."

James hesitated, waiting to see if Draco would revert back to his Healer self. They were one in the same, he knew, but that didn't mean he wanted to be picked apart. But Draco simply waited for him to continue, so he did.

 ** _Alexander is asking about girls._** Draco smirked and James sent him a quelling look. **_I think he is lonely. Arthur wants his help but Alexander is not angry with me. They always stick together. I am ruining that. Arthur has a cat, has Monty. Alexander just has me._**

Draco considered him for a long while as he chewed his pasta at an excruciatingly slow pace. Finally, he lay his fork across the nearly-empty plate.

"Alexander has his friends, Robert and Talia, _and_ your attention, _and_ Monty's continued affection, I've no doubt. And if he's anything like you, he's probably bonded in all sorts of inappropriate ways with that owl."

 **_Shut up!_ ** James scowled.

"Arthur's the one relying on attention from his cat, from older students, and from a manipulative, not-worthy-to-be-called pseudo-step-parent." James sat back, meeting Draco's firm gaze. "But even if he is pushing Alexander away, some time apart won't destroy their bond. They're not a reflection of you and Monty."

**_Book says divorce can hurt as much as death, can scar forever._ **

"Poppycock." James tried again, but Draco carried on: "You split with your Muggle and your boys are feeling a reasonable amount of grief," he said. "It doesn't mean your family's broken."

* * *

 

**February 15th, 2011: Tuesday**

_Potter's Muggle Lover Deserts Family:  
_ _Malfoy heir helps savior bounce back!_

_A surprise feature written by Marietta Edgecomb …_

Hermione sneered down at the paper on her kitchen table, skimming the article once more.

"Pureblood propaganda," she said dismissively. Harry - he insisted it was alright to call him Harry again - spared a glare for the newspaper as he worked to calm two-year-old Hugo from his tantrum. "Marietta Edgecomb is taking advantage of your situation to make Muggles look bad and Purebloods superior."

Harry's hands were busy swinging Hugo side to side in large, swooping motions, but he didn't look any less sulky.

"Don't let this put you off Malfoy - I mean it, Harry!" she warned. "He's done you a world of good. Even Ron sees it."

 _He'd see it even more now if he weren't so tied up at work._ Tony was still missing. There were no more clues to follow and Ron was sick with fear. It was 1998 all over again.

Harry shifted Hugo onto his hip, earning a warning whimper as he hurried to point out one particular line.

"Ah - yes, that bit there sort of paints you up like a damsel in distress," she admitted. "But isn't that at least a refreshing change of pace from all that savior drivel?"

Harry did not agree.

"You...you know it's hippogriff shit, right?" she said as she watched him swoop Hugo back and forth, back and forth. Hugo hummed, nearly out of his tantrum now. "Your family values aren't _damaged_. Even before James came along." She stepped around the table and into his space, forcing him to stop swooping her son so he would meet her gaze. "Harry valued family, more than anything. That's true in any lifetime, any manifestation of Harry. That's why you've got the life you have now, with the boys."

Harry brushed Hugo's fringe away from his face, studying his freckles.

"Monty's not your family, Harry," she whispered, curling a hand over a wayward lock of Hugo's hair. "He may once have been but he forfeited that. He did, not you. You owe your children a happy father and you couldn't give them that if you'd let him stay."

Harry handed Hugo over, looking troubled.

 ** _Letters from strangers today,_** he said after he'd set up his wand. She tried not to rely on the translation as much as possible, but he signed so fast and she couldn't get her eyes to stop reading. **_Want me to take Monty back. Want me to choose him over Malfoy._**

Hermione hesitated.

"Do - ...is it a competition?" she asked carefully. Harry's head snapped up and his eyes went a bit wild. "I mean - not to say that Monty wasn't out of line when he accused you, but...are you - you and Malfoy, are you…?"

**_No_ **

It didn't seem a complete sentence, but he offered nothing more.

"What is it about Draco that you like, Harry?" she pressed, ever so gently. He sent her a knowing look, but indulged her anyway.

**_Good. Mean but good. Honest. Funny. Talks a lot, fills room._ **

"He ' _fills the room'_?" she laughed. "Must be all that chocolate..."

Whether or not he heard her remark, he nodded eagerly, eyes bright. **_Fills room, box seats, street, park. Stiff shell. Soft inside. Warm inside._ **

"Are you talking about Draco or a nougat?"

 ** _Truffle,_** he corrected. **_Not nougat._**

"You can't be serious..." This wasn't happening. In no conceived universe could she have foreseen Harry Potter confessing so readily to his little crush on Draco Malfoy, even after an actual, literal, overt Valentine's date. Not only that, but wrapping the Slytherin ice prince in chocolate and calling him a truffle!

Harry's face looked ready to split in half.

It was sickly sweet and she wanted to brush her teeth.

* * *

 

**February 16th, 2011: Wednesday**

"Draco, you didn't..." Astoria buried her perfectly painted face in her perfectly manicured hands and Draco felt a pang of foreboding.

"We banter, it's - it's our thing," he defended, tossing the newspaper into the fire.

"This is personal humiliation, Draco!" she cried, lifting her face to stare at him incredulously. "They blasted his business for the world to see and you threw it back in his face with a shit comment and one of your little smirks!"

"That's how we communicate!"

"That's not healthy!"

"Who's the Mind Healer here, you or me?"

"Who's been in a relationship with a petty Mind Healing berk, you or me?"

Draco opened his mouth to let out a witty retort but none came, of course. The crafty bitch always tripped him up. Pansy was easier.

"Pansy's easier," he decided to try. Judging from her twisted expression, it was either the wrong thing to say or made no sense outside of his head.

"You've got to fix this," she began. "This whole mess."

He threw himself down on the settee - on James's side, since she'd taken his. He tried to push away the memory of that morning's visit to the shop in Aberdeen, before it opened, before Beatrice arrived. He tried to push away the way James had looked at him after his shit comment and little smirk, but it was burned into his mind's eye.

"You can't treat him like a crup that'll just forget after you step on its tail."

"He's not a fragile little - "

"And you _can't_ be his Mind Healer." Draco spluttered, blinked, checked her face to see if she was serious, and choked on another witty retort. "I mean it, Dragon. It's not right. There are rules and ethics against this sort of thing for a reason - "

"I know the ethics!" He turned away, suddenly sickened by her perfect eyebrows. "I submitted half of them."

Astoria faced forward on the settee, hunching her back in a brutish way that would have sent the rest of the Greengrass family into hysterics if they'd witnessed it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watch the fire as if she'd learned the art of divination from the Greek oracle. She may have done. Draco had no idea what she was up to these days.

"He's not a fragile little crup," she asserted. "But you've always known where to hit so it hurts most. You've only gotten better at it over the years," she said, tilting toward him but not quite managing to nudge his shoulder.

"The forefront of my field," he agreed stiffly.

"You can't root around inside his head if you're looking for something more," she went on in a decisive tone, as if they'd already arrived at the next course of action. "He's not a crup and you're not his trainer."

 _Don't insert yourself where you don't belong,_ was what he heard.

"I see. Yes, I'll just toss myself off the highest turret then, shall I?"

"Spare me the victim complex, would you?" she snapped. "I'm telling you not to take advantage of a patient, not damning you to the life of a spinster!"

Draco sneered. "He's not my patient, if you recall. I haven't seen him officially since - "

"Stow it, Malfoy," she said. He stowed his words, but he could brood as much as he liked. "Cut it off now, one way or the other. It's usually possible to mend a potion before it combusts."

He made a big show of saying nothing. _You told me to stow it._ She did not appreciate the theatrics, but she left without hexing him, so he counted it as a victory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I KNOW ((now)) that Mr./Ms. [First Name] is strictly a southern-US thing, so just consider it a regional spice from your dumb author. I've adjusted the twins' speech later, but Scorpius's scene is just funnier to me now so I'm leaving it as-is.
> 
> See you next week for the semifinal installment of Charming Chocolates!
> 
> (Is this enough slow-burn heat for you Drarry fans? Yes/no/kinda? They're idiots and they're not fully cooperating with me. They want another three chapters but that's not in my contract.) (oh my god I just realized that slow-burn is the perfect metaphor for a chocolate-themed romance) (you guys I'm so clever sometimes it hurts)


	9. Knock Knock, it's Not Nott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title SHOULD be "Crash and Burn" or something less stupid, but.........

**February 18th, 2011: Friday**

"And this is final?"

"I confirmed it myself with Forensics," Unspeakable Zabini said. "It's a clean match. Or as clean as it'll get - not much of it left."

"Not really your forte though, is it?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes. Zabini had been under investigation just months ago. What were they thinking in the Department of Mysteries, to send Zabini as the consult on _this_ case? He was hoping for Hermione.

"How many high-profile cases have you closed this year, Auror Weasley?" Zabini asked nonchalantly.

Ron flushed red and flicked his wand, sending the old charred envelop zipping down the hall to finally rest in the Evidence storage room. A few lazy sparks still fell from its edges as it disappeared down the hall. Even weeks later, Ron could hardly stand to imagine what sort of scene he would have discovered if Rachel hadn't been in that kitchen with Harry. A blank scroll, just regular office parchment, soaked in a powerful Sparking Potion. As it dried, the potion activated. Given a few more minutes, the lightning would have burned through the parchment. But they were able to douse it before that could happen, recovering just enough singed parchment to run several dozen tests.

The stationary matched James's old prescription fulfillment slips from Starr's Apothecary.

"Put a warrant out!" Ron barked at Rachel, who turned her entire body in order to give him a Look. Right. Too aggressive. "Sorry. Er - Theodore Nott, Romilda Vane, and that Montague bloke."

"Graham?" his new partner supplied flatly, obviously impressed. "Didn't you go to school with all three?"

"Graham Montague, yes," he repeated, as if he hadn't heard the rest. "Let's get all hands on deck, I want Starr's locked down within the hour."

After nearly thirteen years, he should have known it wouldn't be that easy to pin them down.

* * *

 

It wasn't the ideal way to end what was already a not-ideal week. As Draco pondered what had led to this less-than-ideal dinner with Scorpius, Astoria, and Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, his mother went on with her pillaging:

"What a fine example you're setting for your son, fine indeed!"

He had Astoria to thank for this lecture. That bitch lost the battle Wednesday and went tattling to his mummy.

"You've been yapping at Potter's heels since first year and when he _finally_ turns his head, _finally_ gives you the light of day, _finally_ begins to reciprocate the attention - you bite!"

He should have skipped dinner. He could be cataloguing James's progress for further refinement in his memory-recovery system. He hadn't yet. He didn't feel entitled to do so, seeing as James wasn't actually his patient.

"What, have our heirlooms gone to waste protecting this man? This man with whom you - apparently - want no future? A future in which Scorpius could have had the stable family you've denied him since birth?"

He thought that was going a bit far, though he didn't dare open his mouth to protest. Scorpius's home life wasn't in shambles. Astoria visited quite often and took him for week-long visits with his other grandparents. He wasn't traded around like a Quaffle.

"What's to become of your efforts, Draco?" Mum asked sharply, raising a delicate brow. The table descended into taut silence and Draco popped a bit of fish into his mouth to buy some time.

What did he want?

He avoided Astoria, who was trying to catch his eye from across the table. Scorpius hummed absentmindedly as he sucked on a sweet mint, having already declared dinner to be finished as soon as his grandmum began raising her voice. Dad was staring unblinkingly at his goblet of cranberry juice, probably just beginning to suspect that it wasn't wine.

He wanted a better family dinner, he knew that much. One in which he wasn't scolded like an incontinent mutt in front of his own son. Unbidden, images of James's kitchen came to mind. The countless Saturday nights he'd spent there, either with superfluous company or with James all too himself. Hours of bickering and banter, James's silent laughs, his own breathless giggles, and their innocent, all-too-fleeting touches.

He wanted that. Every night.

He wanted Scorpius in that kitchen, laying out the silverware as he signed the proper words for each knife, spoon, and fork. He wanted the twins to hang onto his every word as he told them all about their father in the stupid years, when they fought on the Quidditch pitch and dueled in the corridors instead of putting their biting mouths to better use. He wanted his mother to relax, to stop asking after his family with a guarded expression, always prepared to hear that he'd _finally_ mucked things up.

"Draco?"

Unable to summon an answer, he nodded once. That didn't seem to be enough, so he added, "I will apologize." All of this fuss for one flippant comment about saving his damsel from the mad Muggle...

"You've done enough with your words, son," his mother scoffed, glancing briefly at Dad. _Malfoys don't apologize_ , is what she meant. "When he began courting you, he brought you to a Quidditch match. You will return the favor." _When he began courting you._ Draco's heart spasmed and he pressed a hand to his chest.

"The Cannons are playing tomorrow," Astoria said brightly.

"Mr. Potter will recognize the invitation as an attempt to assuage - "

"Potter..." Draco glanced at his father warily, waiting for the inevitable. "Nott wants Potter. I'm to retrieve him."

"Cantankerous Nott is passed, Lucius," Mum said gently. "Years gone now, dear. You remember."

"I'm to retrieve him." Lucius Malfoy's hair was brushed and pulled back neatly in a ribbon at the base of his neck. He sipped regally from the goblet, looking every part the Malfoy legacy Draco was raised to emulate. Scorpius saw and promptly attempted to lift his glass with one hand, slopping some of the pumpkin juice onto his cuff.

"Your friend is dead," Draco spat.

"Draco!" Mum hissed.

"Cannons," he agreed, before he could be swatted on the nose with a newspaper. "I'll acquire the tickets post-haste."

"You'll compose the invitation post-haste," Mum corrected. "I'll take care of the rest."

"I thought I'd done enough with my words?" he groused before ducking his head under her glare.

"I'll alert Nott," his father announced agreeably. "Post-haste."

Instead of smashing his own head into the table, Draco patted his mouth with his napkin and excused himself. He had a letter to write.

* * *

 

_Sir Draco the Dragon-Slayer,_

_Not really up for another public outing. I'd hate to give the press the wrong idea._

_Princess Charming_

* * *

 

**February 19th, 2011: Saturday**

_Two Arrested in Auror Raid on Starr's Apothecary, One Still at Large!_

_Yesterday afternoon, Aurors arrested Starr's Apothecary potioneers Graham Montague (31, former Slytherin) and Romilda Vane (28, former Gryffindor), wanted for questioning in the infamous Potter case. A third suspect, Theodore Nott (30, former Slytherin), remains at large. See page 4 for warrant details._

* * *

 

**March 18th, 2011: Friday Evening, First Day of Easter Holidays**

Arthur shuffled through the teeming pile of letters on the kitchen table, finally landing on what he thought was the start of it all.

"A Cannons game?" Alec said, reading over his shoulder. "D'ye think he really turned down _Quidditch?"_

"Looks like," Arthur said as he tried to piece together the conversation from one side. Some of Mr. Malfoy's messages were pleading, some were sharp and antagonizing. All of the letters were painfully formal. Even little Scorpius had written, in purple ink:

_Mr. JAms_

_Ples come for teA so dAdy cAn sAy hes sory. hes very sory. GrAndmums teA is beter then my teA. ThAnk you for more chokolets. I like the 1s with big serkl bits on._

_Love  
_ _Scorpius_

"What a cunt..." Arthur breathed in disbelief. "An absolute cunt!"

"Shh!" Alec darted a glance at the door. Dad was doing the numbers at the counter. They could hear Beatrice ramble on as she cleaned up. "What'd Mr. Malfoy do?"

"Not him." Arthur thrust a stack of incriminating letters at Alec. "Look at all this! Whatever he's done, he's tryin' tae apologize but Dad's bein' a right cunt!" He was seething. This was Monty all over again. Dad and his blasted pride getting in the way of things, _again_.

The front door clanged shut behind Beatrice and then the kitchen door opened. Arthur whirled around, holding yet another damning letter.

"Dad, you're bein' a cunt!"

Alec squeaked and Dad froze on the spot, the door swinging shut behind him.

**_What_ **

"Jus' wait til I tell Monty!" he said, brandishing the letter. "Yer mad at him cos he dinnae like Mr. Malfoy an' here you are, pushin' him off anyway! What's it all been for then?!"

Dad blinked before he caught the pile of stationary they'd been rifling through and his face went dark.

 ** _Mind your business,_** he signed, tossing his cane carelessly against a cupboard.

"It is ma business!" he shot back. "Yer tellin' me, what, you cannae accept apologies anymore? Whatever he did, he's clearly sorry for it!"

**_Bad word -_ **

"You use bad words all the time in yer bleedin' _editorials,_ " he said scathingly. "Yer bein' a cunt and I stand by what I said!" Alec gently deposited the letters in his hand back onto the table, but to his credit, he didn't back away. He was grateful to his brother. It was easier to face Dad's wrath together.

 **_You do not know_** **,** Dad said, limping over to snatch the parchment out of his hand. He turned away to smash the letters into a haphazard pile, shoving them away from prying eyes.

"I know Monty's not coming back!" Arthur continued. "He says he dinnae even want tae come back anymore, he's goin' away tae Paris next month cos he's given up waiting for _you_ tae get yer head outa yer arse!"

 ** _Enough!_** Dad turned on him, eyes blazing. **_You can be angry with me. Use better words._**

"Nothin' else gets through yer thick skull!"

Alec sucked air through his teeth but still didn't step back. Good. He'd make a Gryffindor out of his brother yet.

 ** _Talk like adult, work like adult,_** Dad said. **_Clean upstairs. Every inch. Sparkling._**

"I'll make dinner," Alec said, effectively throwing in his lot with Arthur. He squared his shoulders as if facing the firing squad. Dad whirled on him and for all his burning rage, he very well might have been staring down imminent execution.

 ** _No dessert,_** he said with a scowl. **_No cocoa. No television. Eat, dishes, straight to bed._**

Alec nodded dutifully. Arthur sent him a grateful look before shoving past Dad and heading upstairs to get to work. Dad's standards for chores were ridiculous, especially when he was on a tiff.

They had a long holiday break ahead of them.

* * *

 

**March 19th, 2011: Saturday**

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_It would bestow a great honor unto my family if you would join us at Malfoy Manor to mark the Spring Equinox as our esteemed guest._

_Please accept this traditional arrangement in lieu of your response. We look forward to your presence tomorrow at four in the afternoon._

_Your host,  
_ _Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

* * *

 

James stared between the formal invitation and the huge vase of flowers that Draco's eagle owl had carted in at lunch. Weeks of trading stiff letters had led to this: Malfoy Senior himself, stooping low to fix what his sharp-tongued son had done. He could only imagine what conversation had prompted such an act of desperation.

He knew Arthur was right and he hated him a little bit for it. He was being a stubborn, prideful cunt. But he couldn't bare another Prophet article proclaiming Draco his knight in shining armor, saving him from heartbreak, showing him how pureblood wizards treated their own, showing the world how Muggle relationships were doomed to fail.

Draco had given him his memories back, chunk by colossal chunk, and he felt as if he'd gained another lifetime. He spent over a decade telling himself it didn't matter, telling himself he didn't need a past. He told himself he could just live with the scars and the flashbacks, and he was content push away the nightmares forever. But when he started the sessions, he realized he hadn't even been able to _conceive_ of how much he was missing. Sense and understanding flooded in with each session.

He stored his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs because that's where it belonged. He didn't just know how to cook complex dishes, he had learned over a hot stove. He gave his boys the master bedroom, even after Monty had moved in, because he couldn't stand the thought of them sharing the smallest room, with broken furniture to boot.

He mapped the exits of every new location because _constant vigilance!_ He kept an eye on the little mirror next to the shop door from afar while he worked the counter, as if it were foe glass. He held entire conversations with Anne (albeit one-sided and in sign language) because he knew she was listening, just as Hedwig had.

He was drawn to Draco, time and time again, for better or for worse, because that was how it had always been. They energized each other in a way he'd never felt with Monty, or Aarti, or Ginny.

 _Not_ because he was a wizard. That didn't matter. _Not_ because he'd given him his memories back along with a few coping mechanisms after six weeks of therapy. That mattered, but the magnetism was there outside of it all. Despite it all.

He didn't want Monty to be right. He didn't want to admit to the boys, much less to himself, that there _was_ something building between him and Draco. Something more than friendship.

He touched a lily that drooped over the edge of the decorate vase in which the flowers were artfully arranged.

If he had to face the music, he'd at least bring the boys along to soften the blow.

Or to ensure the explosion.

* * *

 

**March 20th, 2011: Sunday**

Draco was ill-prepared, to say the least. Draco was ambushed, to speak accurately. Ambushed by the Charming chaps, if he were feeling lyrical. Auror Weasley escorted them through the gates, up the gravel walkway, across the threshold and into the parlor before James sent him away with a pointed look.

His father was beside himself, even more pleased than his mother, who wasn't at all surprised to welcome their guests. Suddenly Scorpius's best wishes on his way to Floo over to the Greengrass estate made sense. Everyone was in on it, apparently, except poor innocent Draco.

Dad wasn't sedated and as he led the Charmings through to the Blue Parlor for tea, Draco was already calculating how he might slip him something or convince him to leave them be for a few hours. He couldn't risk his father's insane behavior sending Draco himself on a tailspin of war trauma, with his frazzled nerves and stammering speech and his thrice-damned gag reflex. He had to be at his best if he wanted James to...to what? Confess his love? The idea was laughable, that James Charming - Harry Potter - would ever resign himself and his children to a future with the likes of Draco. A Malfoy.

The son of the man currently leering at James as if he were a Ministry pardon.

Today would be a disaster.

James gravitated at once to the antique settee across from the fire and Draco almost sat beside him by habit, until the boys crammed themselves there instead. He chose the loveseat, perpendicular to the settee, with his mother. His unblinking father sank into the wingback armchair, his perfectly straight back to the fire.

"Tea?" Mum offered in her warmest hostess voice.

Without waiting for an answer, she clapped twice - softly, elegantly - and a full arrangement popped into place on the low table between them. Tea with cream, sugar, and a whole bevy of cakes and biscuits floating high in a towering display of house elf magic, courtesy of Grosh, their elderly but powerful house elf.

The boys launched themselves at the sweets - James's mouth tugged down at the corner in what was either disapproval or an attempt not to smile - before nodding his thanks and carefully preparing three cups of tea. Draco and his mother pretended not to notice when James took a hasty sip, burnt his lip, and spilled several drops down his front.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Charming," Mum said graciously, holding her teacup with her pinky slightly extended. Draco caught James's eye and nodded subtly to the display. At the same time, hands low and out of sight of the others, they both extended a pinky finger and dipped it sharply in the shape of a small American letter J.

James let the smile fly free this time and Draco felt something in his chest ease.

Tea was fine, if a bit formal. He couldn't talk to James the way he wanted to, though he doubted James wanted to rehash any of the words they'd exchanged via owl over the past few weeks. What was said and done was already said and done. Let it rot in the ground while they said newer, better things, like how much Arthur liked the portraits at the Manor, or Alexander's prattling about Charms Club. Like how James thanked Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy for their unwitting donation to the collection of protective relics in the Charming residence, and then in the very next moment:

 ** _Draco,_** he signed, and - drat it all - the boys caught the lewd mutilation of his name. **_You need a haircut._**

"You're one to talk," he grumbled. "What's the sign for bird's nest?"

His father said no words, thankfully. But he stared intently at James, who was doing a rousing job of pretending not to be irked. Draco thought he wouldn't be so carefree the moment those steely grey eyes turned on the boys -

And now Dad was leaving the room, which was even better than his silence! Really, this was turning out too good to be true. Laughs were shared, the boys put a dent in Grosh's treats, Narcissa Malfoy was thoroughly charmed, and those green eyes looked at him with warmth again instead of...instead of whatever he'd seen that horrible morning in February, after his shit comment and little smirk. Hurt. Betrayal.

A bloke could get lost in those warm green eyes and capable brown hands.

And of course, it _was_ too good to be true, because then Lucius Malfoy returned with Theodore Nott and Anthony Goldstein in tow.

* * *

 

It all went down in such rapid succession that James didn't have time to comprehend the words. His own wand went from translating to zipping into Tony's outstretched hand. He leapt to his feet just as Draco managed to hit his father with a stunning spell, before his wand was taken as well. Narcissa chose to stand and throw her cup of scalding tea over the boys' heads at the intruders, who dodged it and collected her wand in turn. The boys were the last to be disarmed as they jumped up to face the two remaining figures in the doorway.

James yanked Alec and Arthur from their position between the settee and table, pulling them behind him as he moved back from the furniture that cluttered up their space. They were all disarmed, not killed outright, so he was expecting some sort of stand-off, some questions or demands, but then -

 _"Crucio!"_ Draco went down under Tony's spell.

The boys cried out behind James as Draco screamed in agony and Narcissa grabbed another teacup from the table. It hit its mark and Tony hissed, clutching his eye. Released, Draco rolled onto his back, gasping for breath, and James hesitated. He couldn't go to him without leaving the boys vulnerable but Draco didn't have a chance from the floor. _Get up!_ Narcissa threw herself between her son and the wands, bending down to check him over even as she shielded him.

"Nott," he panted, glaring at the intruders from under his mother's arm. "Theodore Nott! He meant Theo, Mum, not Tank!"

 _"Go another round, Tank. I'll bet you break through this time."_ The words from years ago rang in James's mind as clear as if they'd just been spoken. He peered closely at the stranger in the room, only to realize that he wasn't a stranger at all:

Theodore Nott was in Slytherin with Draco. The same year, in fact. James knew him by his brown hair, his small round face, his weak but not unattractive chin. His vintage clothes were altered haphazardly but he wore nice boots, polished and well-made. But James didn't remember that last detail from school, no. He had only noticed those boots while lying on the floor, surrounded by eight or nine other pairs of shoes...

Theodore Nott was there that night, with his father, the old man who had tortured him. Round after round after gut-boiling round of the Cruciatus, while Theo and the others asked questions he couldn't answer.

"Take a seat, Dragon," Nott ordered in a low voice.

"Tony?" Arthur asked, peering around his back.

James tried to push him back out of sight but Tony stalked over and snatched Arthur's collar, dragging him forward. James latched onto his oldest boy, using his other hand to push away the traitor, but Tony suddenly drove him back against his bad hip and sent him sprawling to the floor, wheezing in pain, with Alec beneath him.

"No, wait - Da'!" Arthur cried out, and James felt his heart stop. Tony grappled with Arthur while James surged to his feet, blood thundering in his ears, and then the Auror put a wand to Arthur's throat.

"Don't," came his quiet warning. James froze on the spot, lifting his hands in a surrendering gesture but barely sparing Tony a glance. He nodded in what he hoped was a comforting way to Arthur, though he had no idea if it was misguided...if he could even hope to get the kids out of this alive.

"And one for me too," Nott said, moving toward James and Alec. James brought his hands back down to hold Alec tightly against his side, obstinately ignoring the throbbing pain in his freshly-bashed hip. The pain and the sight of Nott's face - so much like his father's - was sending his head spinning wildly back to that night.

 _I don't have time for your shit, Potter!_ he thought as he raged against the flickering images that threatened to take over. He wrenched his mind away from that dark, musty cottage to focus on the here and now. Draco was down, Narcissa was about to get herself killed over a teacup, and the fucking traitor that was Ron's missing partner was digging his wand into Arthur's throat.

Nott faltered as he reached for Alec, seeing something in James's face that gave him reason to reconsider. James felt mad with fear and anger. He wasn't sure what he'd do, but he knew in that moment he was capable of anything short of growing claws.

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead - "_

James shook his head sharply to jar his mother's desperate voice from his ears. It seemed to make him look a bit more mad because Nott faltered again, taking a step back. He reached out and snatched Arthur out of Tony's hands, earning an indignant squawk from the boy.

"Fine," Nott said. "I'll keep this'un, you get the other, Tony."

"Er - I'm alright," Tony answered with a wary eye. James felt lighter with Nott's wand still pointed at Narcissa and Tony's wand now trained on him. He could think again.

**_What?_ **

Not the most eloquent he'd ever been, but without his wand, it would have to do.

"You know what this is about, Potter," Nott said, adjusting his hold on the ever-fidgeting Arthur. "But we'll give you a choice. If we Obliviate you, your bloody Healer - " he spat in Draco's direction, " - will just undo it all again and we'll never get anywhere."

**_What choice?_ **

"What's the choice then?" Arthur translated, earning an arm pressed against his windpipe. James twitched as Arthur choked slightly, but he seemed to be able to breathe for now.

"That depends on what Draco has to say," Nott went on, nodding to Tony. Tony sighed and began digging around in Nott's robe pocket, grimacing as if the action were the most undignified he'd ever been asked to do.

He extracted a tiny glass vial of what looked like water.

"You're practically a potions master," Nott said snidely to Draco, still on the floor under his mother's hunched figure. "Three drops will do. Open up."

As Tony approached with the vial, Narcissa snarled in a way that clashed strangely with her exquisite dress robes, but Nott gave Arthur a wrenching twist that had him crying out in pain. Draco pushed himself up, out of his mother's reach.

"Mum, it's fine," he hissed as she climbed to her feet to follow.

"Mr. Malfoy - " Arthur said in alarm.

"What is that?!" Alec gasped.

 **_Truth potion_** , James angled himself to sign so that both boys could see, but Arthur's eyes were spinning in panic and he didn't take it in.

Draco pushed his mother gently away and opened his mouth for Tony to cautiously approach and deposit three drops of Veritaserum. His eyes glazed over and his face went slack. Narcissa eased him back down to the loveseat.

"Who else knows how to undo memory charms?"

Draco answered at once in a flat voice: "Many methods of memory recovery exist - "

"But none work as well as yours," Tony interrupted. "Your method is patented. Who else knows how to do it?"

Draco blinked rapidly, his mouth gaping for a moment as the potion tried to force him on a single answer. "Healer Hannah Abbott assisted once with the transcendence charm but she doesn't know the potions required. One of them is my own invention, no one else has the recipe."

"So if you die, the method dies with you," Nott said, satisfied.

"No!" Narcissa cried, throwing her arms across her son's unprotected chest. Arthur whined and James jerked forward as if to stop whatever was about to happen, but Alec was still clinging to him and he fell back once more.

"The choice," Tony explained over the commotion, "is your life or his."

**_What?_ **

"We can eliminate Healer Malfoy and Obliviate you again," Tony said, swallowing convulsively. "The children too, of course, and your Muggle; there's no knowing what you've told them over the years. Eventually everything will return to as it was." Surely he had to know that wasn't true. Anthony Goldstein had been missing for months, he couldn't just go back to work as an Auror - as Ron's partner on this very case, no less. "After a year or two, the press will die down and the Ministry will label it a cold case again. You can run your shop in peace."

"Or," Nott said loudly, "we kill you, Potter. Draco can squawk all he wants but without your testimony, nothing else can happen. No more arrests."

 **_W-A-R-R-A-N-T_ ** , he argued. **_Newspaper. Too late._ **

"You've got a warrant posted in the newspaper," Alec said, peering around his side to watch his signs.

"Disguises are elementary," Tony explained shortly. "You must recall your own disguises at the train station in September? It's no trouble." James nodded automatically, remembering a flash of dark blond hair in the compartment of Aurors. Of the three Aurors, he hadn't managed to disarm Tony.

"Starr's is shut down," Nott said. "And Goldstein can't prance back into the Ministry, but there's other ways to make money."

 **_P-R-I-S-M._ ** Ron had explained about the magical energy syphoning that had led to all of this. He felt a flare of anger that a bloody potions ring was holding his and his family's lives in flux. He could hear Snape laughing from the grave.

"What's 'prism'?" Alec muttered, but Draco heard:

"Prism is a highly addictive illegal potion used as a temporary solution for a multitude of ailments."

"Just say no, kiddo," Nott said darkly. Alec ducked back behind James to avoid his gaze.

"Enough, Nott," Tony snapped, touching one hand absently to the cuffed sleeve of his robe. It was strange to see him in civilian clothes. "Your decision, Mr. Potter?"

James had his options but neither was acceptable.

The Gryffindor in him reared its ugly head, screaming at him to get Draco, Narcissa, and the boys out of here alive by any means necessary. This wasn't their problem, it was his and his alone. He chose to send his guard away all those years ago - and today as well. He chose to sneak into Potter Cottage to investigate a mysterious noise. He chose to stop when he found Dung pilfering his childhood nursery, to scream at him, to give away his location, to earn himself a busted hip and a shattered mind.

This had all been his choice, not anyone else's.

**_Kill me._ **

_"NO!"_ Arthur screamed. Alec clutched his arms from behind to keep him from signing, his fingernails digging into his forearms in a way that only served to remind James how small his boy's hands were. Alec and Arty's nails were so sharp when they were babies and they hadn't dulled all that much over the years. When did fingernails begin to dull? Would they live long enough to find out?

Tony and Nott seemed to understand what had been said. In one motion, Nott threw Arthur at Draco, who grunted in his dazed state on the loveseat but wrapped his arms around him protectively, still as strong as ever. James grabbed Alec in a bruising grip, shoving him past the table and into Narcissa's waiting arms, who caught him around the middle and held tight.

James caught her eye over Alec's hair, trying to communicate something - everything - _anything_ to her. She clasped a hand to Alec's head, pressing his face into the crook of her neck to keep him from watching. Draco blinked owlishly at the struggling boy in his lap as he used those long nimble fingers to grapple him against his chest.

"Trust a Gryffindor to make the noble choice," Nott said in that impossibly low voice, so at odds with his small chin. James's heart was racing as fast as his mind, thoughts flying by faster than he could hope to grasp. Fleetingly, he felt it was a waste of his final moments, to be unable to latch onto any coherent thought except _Protect, Protect, Protect!_ Something about fingernails -

His feet seemed to carry him automatically and he found himself hobbling around the settee in a wide arc so he stood between the intruders and the doorway. Tony moved at once to stand directly behind him, blocking his escape. But he wasn't trying to escape. He wouldn't run this time.

Time slowed down as everything lined up just right. He didn't remember planning it but perhaps something in his mind had been waiting for this moment. He welcomed the images that flickered across his mind now:

_Cantankerous Nott is standing over him and Harry's own wand is poking out of his robe pocket._

Anthony planted himself barely a foot behind him and James knew his wand was tucked away in his front pocket, just out of sight.

_All he can focus on is a nail sticking up from the floor, close to his cheek. There's a drop of blood on the crooked head of the nail. He thinks he split his lip on it, but he can't remember._

His eyes zeroed in on the iron firepoker in a stand at the hearth across the room.

_It's an old cottage. Held together by large, deadly nails._

Tony was behind him. Nott was before him, raising his wand for _another round, Tank! I'll bet you break through this time._

 _ACCIO!_ He didn't remember reaching behind him for his wand but it was in his hand now. The firepoker launched out of the stand like a bullet, rocketing at an upward angle through Nott's thigh. James threw himself on the floor and it sailed overhead. An awful wet sound, a nearly silent gasp, and then a heavy weight and a cold bar dropped on top of him.

The room was quiet for a moment before Nott's pain caught up to him and he let loose a howl of agony.

 _"Confringo!"_ he cried.

James hunched down even lower under Tony's gasping, twitching body and the curse hit the Auror on the shoulder, blasting it to pieces and setting off a ringing sound in his ears. James felt the sheer force of the spell knock into him and he was sure he'd either be hit with the next one or pummeled into the floor under Tony's body if he kept using him as a shield. He rolled out from under the bloody mess, getting caught against the firepoker in Tony's chest. He twisted free, his hip was screaming in pain, and lifted his wand -

Alec and Narcissa were attempting to drag Arthur and Draco away from Nott, but Draco wasn't entirely with it. His mind was still blissed out on Veritaserum but his body wasn't lacking in strength, so it was a struggle to get him to relinquish his hold Arthur enough to pull them both to safety. Nott followed his gaze and James saw what would happen a moment before it did.

 _"Avada keda - aack!"_ Narcissa abandoned her struggle to smash the heavy porcelain teapot over Nott's skull. She snatched the wand out of his hands like she was taking a sweet away from a naughty child. But even disoriented by a blow to the head, Nott was fast. Just as Narcissa sent a powerful silent stunning spell his way, he whipped out another wand from his pocket - it was Draco's - and threw one last curse: _"Confringo!"_

The curse went wildly off target, missing Narcissa and hurtling toward James who was only just clamoring to his feet. He threw himself back, landing on his arse and kicking out his legs, and the curse slammed into his foot.

The force of it ricocheted up his leg and into his hip, rattling him to his core until he was sure he would fall apart. But when he looked, he found no bloody stump. Both his feet were intact, his right leg was still raised against the blow, and the top of his shoe was glowing.

Scratch that, his shoe was on _fire_.

He gasped and kicked out again and again, cursing himself for tying his laces so tightly that morning - what was he afraid of, shoe-stealing gremlins?! As the heat burned through his shoe and into his foot, all thoughts of magic and common sense dropped out of his head.

How did he even have a foot left to burn? What had gone wrong with the blasting spell? Why was fire so _hot?!_

Then Narcissa was at his side, using a smart little cutting spell and summoning his shoe right off his foot. She doused his smoking sock with an _aguamenti_ and James fell back on his elbows in relief.

"Dad!"

He shot up at once to catch an armful of Alec, who immediately broke down in quiet, shaking sobs against his chest.

"Draco, for Circe's sake, _let go!"_ Narcissa ordered, moving to help Arthur escape Draco's grip. Draco blinked and allowed his mother to help him unclench his hands, and then Arthur threw himself at James. Alec trembled in the crook of one arm, clutching him tightly, while Arthur sat on his lap, stiff, unyielding, and screaming hoarsely into his neck. James couldn't do much else but hold them.

His eyes caught Narcissa's again as she held her own addled son to her chest.

* * *

 

Ron couldn't tear his gaze away from his partner. The firepoker stuck out on either side of his torso. He was slumped over in a grotesque angle, a pool of blood in the shadowed space under him. There was nothing left of his shoulder, just a glimpse of white bone and a severed arm out in the corridor.

Rachel had promptly vomited and nearly splinched herself as she tried to Apparate out of the anti-Apparation wards. Mrs. Malfoy assured them that the Manor had no such wards in place, so Rachel had Tony to thank for the Auror-level magic that nearly tore her apart in her panic.

Harry and his boys were in the west wing of the Manor, giving their statements under a strong dose of Calming Draught. The Malfoy family remained in the Blue Parlor. Lucius was ranting and raving about the Dark Lord - Draco assured them this was normal behavior, but it was setting the rest of the team on edge. Narcissa was holding up better than Ron would have expected from a civilian; she was her normal stoic, civil self, even with her elegant robes splattered in blood. She wouldn't leave Draco's side, however.

In a stupor, Ron heard himself bark some orders. Photographs were taken. Statements were recorded via Quick Quotes Quills on Ministry-Grade Tamper-Proof Parchment. The firepoker was extracted and sent to Evidence. Wands were returned and Lucius was arrested.

Tony's body was collected by Forensics to be examined, documented, cleaned, and eventually transferred to the Goldstein family for burial.

"Take a sabbatical, Weasley," Robards ordered, coming to stand in front of him and thereby blocking his view of Tony's blood on the floor. "Two weeks. See Jesse for your appointments - "

"I don't need - "

"If anyone needs a Mind Healer right now, it's you," his boss grunted shortly. Ron snapped his mouth shut. It wouldn't do any good to argue.

"I want to close this case," he said after a long pause.

"It's not going anywhere," Robards sighed. "Nott said he'd give us names. Says it's far-reaching. There's plenty of work left to do."

"Right."

"Take Potter with you," he added. "We can't spare a guard for his shop anytime soon."

But Ron was barely listening. He pushed past Robards and approached Draco and Narcissa Malfoy just as another Auror released them.

"Your home's a crime scene today," he blurted. "Come to mine."

"Is there room in your hovel?" Draco asked, not unkindly though Narcissa seemed appalled.

"Room enough," he answered. He felt a smirk pulling at his lips but didn't feel it in his heart. "The sofa transfigures into a decent enough bed. Could probably split it in two."

"Mother's going to stay with the Greengrass family tonight," Draco said. "But I'll take your sofa."

"Draco, I'm certain you're welcome to - "

"I shouldn't see Scorpius tonight, Mum, not like this," he whispered. Ron turned away from the private moment. "And I can't leave him..." _Can't leave who?_

"You can," Narcissa said firmly.

"I can," Draco agreed. "But I won't. I want to help." The word triggered something in Ron's mind. Harry.

"Does he want your help?" he asked sharply. Harry was nothing if not independent. He'd just escaped Monty's grip and Ron was hard-pressed to release Malfoy on him now that he was finally free!

Draco blinked at him, his mouth falling open before closing with a snap.

"Well," he said waspishly. "If he doesn't want my help, that's fine, but _I_ could certainly use some." Ron furrowed his brow as Draco cleared his throat and raised his voice, carrying on louder and louder with each word: "It's his fault anyway! I invite him into my home - yes yes, I _know_ , Mother - I serve him our finest tea - your tea, yes, thank you, Mum - and this is how he repays me! With trauma! Blood on my floor and all this new trauma and - and - and _now_ my favorite firepoker is gone! Yes it _was_ my favorite, Mother, you wouldn't understand..."

Ron left him there, ranting in a way that was eerily similar to Malfoy Senior, and went to check on Harry.

* * *

 

James lay in the middle of the bed, a son on either side as he stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. His boys assured him that, between Narcissa holding Alec against her neck and Draco pressing Arthur to his chest, they hadn't actually seen anything until after the Aurors arrived and pried them off their father. Even then, Alec said, it was only a glimpse of Tony's arm in the corridor.

But the sounds were enough. The awful sound of the firepoker shooting through Nott's thigh and skewering Tony's chest, that would haunt him forever. Nott's guttural scream of pain and then the first blasting curse, followed by the thud of Tony's arm hitting the wall of the corridor outside.

He shuddered, pressing his children tighter to his sides.

The door cracked open and James heard Draco whisper his name. He lifted his head, gesturing for him to join him in Ron and Hermione's guest room.

"Alright?" he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress in the space behind Arthur's knees.

Unable to answer with both hands on his boys' backs, he simply shrugged. He felt numb. Simultaneously numb and overwhelmed with images from today, from twelve years ago. Surges of random panic - as if he'd just realized he left the stove on or something - out of nowhere, stealing his breath and sending his heart racing -

Draco grasped his hand where it rested on Arthur's back. He didn't move it, simply folded his own inside and held it firmly.

"I wasn't - I realize I wasn't much assistance today, but the potion..."

James shook his head in disbelief and, still grasping Draco's hand, knocked it gently against Arthur's back in response. _You protected Arthur. You protected my boy._

"Yes, well." Draco sniffed imperiously. "I hate to leave you to all the heroics, is all. Goes straight to your head."

James snorted and looked up theatrically as if to peek into his own brain to check for ego-swelling, but then his vision blurred with tears and the game was ruined. His face crumpled. Draco hesitated, then brought up his other hand to stroke his hair.

It felt quite nice but the tears came anyway.

Draco recounted the events of the day in a whisper he could barely hear. He laid it all out as a narrative, starting with his answering the front door to find the Charming chaps. He walked him through, step by step, everything that had happened from his perspective. He told him about wanting to sedate his father - oh how James wished he had, but not for the same prideful reason Draco had apparently been using all these months. He told him about the the tea service appearing from nowhere, how it was Grosh's favorite trick. He told him in the faintest whisper how Lucius had left the room, apparently to retrieve the others, and how Draco had fooled himself into thinking he could let his guard down.

He told him about all the awful things that had happened, from the moment they were disarmed to the mysterious case of the flaming shoe. He confessed his undying gratitude for that ruddy old crystal in James's shoelaces, the heirloom that had absorbed the blasting curse and saved his legs.

When there was nothing left to say, when it had all been recounted in actual, concrete words, James felt less overwhelmed, though still numb. And when there were no more tears to cry, James was finally able to unwind. As he drifted away from Ron and Hermione's guest room, he thought he felt Draco press a kiss to his hand.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER! If we chant together, it'll actually happen. One! More! Chapter!
> 
> (I haven't eaten all day because I told myself I'd just "knock out one scene" before breakfast and now it's 5pm. I am not responsible enough to write my own fanfiction, someone take this away from me.)


	10. Chocolate Penis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You knew it was coming. (Get it?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no smut here. Just more pining and blue balls. See that T-rating up there at the top? Still relevant. Calm down and eat some waffles. 
> 
> Happy birthday, Draco Malfoy!

**March 23rd, 2011: Wednesday**

"Have you noticed…?" Ron trailed off, nodding across the room. Hermione could barely contain her grin.

"An awful lot of hand-holding lately, isn't it?" she said.

It was a stunning sight on their sitting room floor, one that should be painted by a master and displayed in the History of Magic corridor for posterity. Draco and Harry, leaning against the wall next to the hearth, were totally engrossed in each others' hands yet again. She couldn't think of a time these past three days when they weren't holding hands, or fumbling through oddly tactile and cooperative sign language lessons, or finding some other way to touch.

Alec was showing Rose how to take apart the telly remote - what fresh hell - and Arthur was playing absentmindedly with Hugo while watching his dad out of the corner of his eye.

"So are they…?"

She shrugged, but her grin slipped free and Ron made a sort of drawn out sighing, snorting, gagging noise.

"You should've heard him back in February, just after Valentine's," she whispered, her voice going high in her excitement. "Harry was comparing him to a _chocolate truffle!_ Didn't even realize, just said something about how he's soft and warm and sweet on the inside but hard on the outside - "

"Spare me," he said, pulling a face.

"He won't talk about it anymore," she added sadly. "Not to me, anyway."

She could only guess how badly she had betrayed Harry's trust after his breakup. He didn't take kindly to her talking to Monty privately on the phone, not at all. He'd always been sensitive to people talking about him behind his back, and with Monty's overall manipulation... Well, she was perfectly contrite about it now, but the damage was done. She shouldn't have trusted Monty's feelings over Harry's tendency to brood, not for a second. She should have left well enough alone.

"I wish I could take a photo," Ron began in an inspired, important voice. "And then send that photo back through time - round sixth year, I'd say. Before all the ugliness, you know? Maybe it was just sexual tension back then."

"I've said it before, I'll say it again," sighed Hermione. "We _don't_ have the capability of long-distance time-travel, even in the Department of Mysteries - "

"Yeah, but you're an Unspeakable," her husband scoffed. "You're meant to say stuff like that."

"I'm meant to say nothing at all."

"We're married," he whined. "You'd think you could just do me a solid now and again."

"A solid?"

"Yeah, just a measly little interdimensional postal service, just the one - "

"Dimensional travel is different from time travel, actually, there's a whole subsection of - "

"Spare. Me." Ron shook his head, staring at her as if she'd sprouted a third eye that was particularly unattractive. "Merlin, woman. _What_ is your job?"

She grinned and leaned over on the loveseat to nudge his shoulder. "I was thinking of taking next week off to visit Mum and Dad," she said lightly, gauging his reaction from the corner of her eye. She had a tendency to push people. She was working on it. "You could stay home if you'd like, but I thought we might bring the kids and make a holiday of it. It's been - "

"Oh bless you, bless you, _bless you,_ " he breathed, looking skyward as if he were welcoming some sort of cosmic event. "Three days on sabbatical and I'm going barmy. How'd we used to go all summer with nothing to do? Is it the kids, have they ruined my laze?"

"You'll need to check in with Jesse before we leave."

"Bollocks, I've a Mind Healer in house," said Ron, waving to Draco who was off again on one of his breathless giggles at something that Harry was tracing on his palm. Worse than teenagers, the two of them.

"I hardly think Robards will accept someone other than the official Department Healer signing off - "

" _Pshaw_ , it's fine."

"Ron, these protocols are in place for a reason," she said firmly.

"Come off it, you sound like - " he cut himself off, going pale. Her heart stuttered at the sight and she grabbed his hand.

She wanted to fix it all for him, to force the universe into alignment so everything was really was fine, so Ron was well rested and happy again. She felt useless. This was all Anthony's fault. If he weren't already dead, she'd drop him in the Forbidden Forest without a wand for what he'd done to Harry, and to Ron.

Not knowing what to say, she bent her head and kissed his fingers.

* * *

 

**April 11th, 2011: Monday**

"Where's the list of everyone who was there that night?" Ron asked, shuffling through the miles of parchment spread out on the conference room table. Rachel flicked her wand and a single scroll flew over to the wall. Another flick and she attached it there with a sticking charm. "Could've just handed it to me..." he muttered, stepping over to examine the list.

_Cantankerous Nott (DOA)_

_Hamish Buchanan III (DOA)_

_Walden Macnair (DOA)_

_Kenneth Towler (DOA)_

_Arnold Peasegood (DOA)_

_Mundungus Fletcher (deceased, St. Mungo's 2 July 1998 4:45am)_

_Graham Montague (trial pending, arrested 18 February 2011)_

_Romilda Vane (trial pending, arrested 18 February 2011)_

_Anthony Goldstein (deceased, 20 March 2011 5:32pm)_

_Theodore Nott (Ministry holding, arrested 20 March 2011)_

"Nott's finally happy with his deal. Gave us six more names this morning," Rachel said, sending another list over to smack into the wall next to the first. "They've nothing to do with Potter, but they're in the same operation. Higher ups who don't get their wands dirty. They stood to benefit the most by syphoning Potter Cottage."

Ron couldn't care less about the people who weren't there that night, Obliviating and torturing his friend. But it was technically the same case, and all that was left to do, next to paperwork, was tackle what remained of this Prism ring.

"Put the warrants out," he said, minding his tone this time. With another flick of her wand, Rachel sent six scrolls racing out of the conference room.

* * *

 

**May 2nd, 2011: Monday**

_Alexander,_

_Twelve years ago, you and your brother came into the world covered in goo while I had a spectacular meltdown just outside the door. Your mum handled that day much better than I did and she was doing all the work with half the blood pressure. She didn't get to meet you but I know she'd be proud. So proud._

_Remember when you took apart the stove, broke it, and then_ _fixed_ _it before I noticed? Other nine-year-olds don't do that. Trust me, I've asked around. You powered through Mr. Alan's class just like you'll power through life and that's inspiring at any age. How else could we have opened up Charming Chocolates if we didn't have your drive to show us how it's done?_

_You've packed a lot into these past twelve years. Top shelf memories include the approximately one billion diabolical nappies, Mr. Alan's face when you helped him decode your essay in the parent-teacher conference, and whatever magic you worked on Helen. No other dad gets to say they were almost assassinated by robot. That's as cool as I'll ever get._

_Share this gift with your brother. It was my dad's. Don't rip it in half like your baby blanket or Prongs will haunt you._

_Love,  
_ _Dad_

* * *

 

_Arthur,_

_Twelve years old and still reaching for the stars. The stars being the record for how many detentions one can be assigned in the span of a year. I can say for sure now that that's my side of the family, not Aarti's. She may have killed a man once, but I wouldn't know, because she was clever enough to never get caught. Channel her wisdom, young grasshopper. I hope this gift will help._

_I think my inner-Harry may have tried to name you after Mr. Weasley. But you're our Arty and I see Aarti in you every day. She took in strays too, but they were taller and handsomer and went by James. She used bad words against me too, when I deserved it. She never took any shit she didn't have to take and she screamed at the world when something wasn't right. You're always ready to kick so much arse, literally and metaphorically, and you're already changing the world._

_Your story on the wall in the shop, that changes someone's day when they stop to read it. Do you think they could get through all six pages and not carry it with them a while after? Your art on the walls, those make our shop home, and that's my world. Just don't get hurt or arrested and you can do even more._

_Share this gift with your brother. It was my dad's. If I don't end up regretting this, I'll be disappointed in your Marauder spirit._

_Love,  
_ _Dad_

[enclosed: Invisibility Cloak]

* * *

 

**June 5th, 2011: Sunday**

It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but he was having second thoughts now. Now that he was staring at an enormous chocolate penis on his kitchen counter, he wasn't sure why he'd ever thought it could be romantic. It was _mammoth_ in size and much too close in color to his own skin. What was he trying to imply here? What he had to offer would just be a disappointment next to this! And it was so _shiny_ , he should have toned down the shine, why did he try to show off his temper skills at a time like this?!

Without a backup gift, Draco's birthday was ruined. But not as ruined as it would be if he arrived and saw this oversized disaster.

"Well, fancy seeing you here!" Beatrice called out from the front room, full of energy despite just having come back from maternity leave that week.

"Hello, Beatrice," came Draco's voice, straining to be patient. "How's the...infant?"

James's heart turned to stone and dropped into his stomach. Footsteps approached the kitchen. A pack of celebratory Butterbeers was in the fridge, he couldn't stow the crudity there unless he wanted it found within minutes. In the oven! No, the roast was in there. The footsteps danced around the front counter and he did the only thing he could think to do.

He hurled the massive chocolate penis out the open window, into the large alleyway he shared with Marge's boutique.

The kitchen door swung open and James whirled around, trying to arrange his face into something less guilty-of-pornographic-confections.

 ** _Smells good,_** Draco signed. James nodded, screwing a smile into place. It must have looked manic because Draco was alarmed. **_Are you sick?_**

James shook his head.

**_You look sick._ **

**_Good signing,_** he tried.

"Don't patronize me, James," he snapped, dropping his hands. _Smells good_ and _you look sick_ were not top form for Draco, not anymore. He'd been breaking out into longer sentences lately. His vocabulary wasn't anything to brag about, but James thought he'd grasped the grammar much faster than he himself had.

 **_Roast_ ** , he said, changing the subject and gesturing to the oven. **_Happy birthday!_ **

Draco gave one of his little smirks and moved in to grasp both of his hands. James was always amazed by how smoothly Draco could transition a position like that into a hug - how did that work? How could he go from holding both hands to holding an armful of man in the span of a second? It was smooth as hell. Nothing like the grabby sort of touches he'd shared with Monty -

No. He was not thinking of Monty now. This was different. A new, different...thing that he had with Draco. They hadn't put a label on it yet, but it was definitely...a thing.

He'd been hoping to make it more of a labeled Thing today, with the dessert dick he'd made from Monty's candy mold, but it was too much. Much too much, much too crude for someone as smooth and effortless as Draco.

They fell into their usual conversation, like they always did when Draco came over. Except it felt a little more special, a little more like a proper date, because Draco was a little more dressed up today. He wore sharp black trousers and a thin black belt, paired with a sleek blue shirt that made his hair practically sing. Overall, he looked more...pointy, than usual. But a good pointy. Like when James managed to suck a candy cane down to the finest point -

James stopped that train of thought right there, blushing furiously. He was a pervert, that's what he was, a sick perverted bastard with some sort of candy kink. He'd have to change the sign on the front door from _Our family business closes at 7:00 sharp_ to say instead _I'm a sick bastard and I'd like to toss one off tonight so if you all could kindly fuck off round 7:00…_

It was as he was bending over the oven to retrieve the roast that he heard little old Marge's voice through the window.

"An' ye see here, nice wide open alley, rubbish down the way. You've got two bins, Mr. Charming has three." She was showing the shop to another prospective buyer, apparently not having had much luck after Monty withdrew his offer.

"D'ye mind if we walk over and have a look?" a man's voice replied.

"Oh yes, let's definitely," a woman said. "Last place we saw, the bin collector couldn't reach the bins and there's no clean way to bring 'em out front. Seemed a real pain."

"Not at all!" Marge cried. "Let's have a gander."

James nearly dropped the roast. Their voices were getting closer. They would pass right by the window to get to the bins at the end of the alley.

"You'll know exactly which ones are yers," Marge was saying now as she unwittingly approached the scene of James's perversion. "Or rather, which are his. Those boys've done a lovely job painting up his bins, it's a real treat!" Little did they know, they were about to happen upon a real treat.

Heaving the roast over to the table, James slammed it down, missing the trivet by a mile, and hurried to close the window just as -

"Oh _my!"_ Poor little old Marge.

"Is that...?" The woman was struck dumb.

 _"Jesus!"_ the man's voice rang out in horror and Draco shot to his feet, hurrying to the back door to help. James reached out to grab the collar of his sleek blue shirt, but just missed him.

"What, what is it?!" Draco said anxiously, peering out the back door. James watched helplessly as Draco, with a hand on the wand in his pocket, pestered the Muggles for more clear answers. But it wasn't Death Eaters or Prism pushers or whatever awful thing Draco thought could befall them now.

"Er - Mr. Charming?" Marge's voice rang out, loud as could be in the echoing alley. "I think you've missed the bins." In a quieter tone, she explained to the potential buyers, "We always try to keep the alley clean and clear for each other, it's the neighborly thing to do..."

Draco quirked his head when he spotted the offense. Slowly, his neck seeming to creak as it turned, he peered back over his shoulder at James, who remained frozen on the spot, staring dumbly out into the alley, into the chasm of death itself.

 

_[[Art](https://ibb.co/na9TFe) by [Mzuul](https://mzuul.tumblr.com/)]_

 

"Right!" he said, his voice much higher than before. "I'll just - I'll take care of that."

Draco twitched in a funny way before squaring his shoulders, stepping outside, and stooping low to gather the heavy chocolate penis in his hands. It was broken in two and cracked on one side, but still very clearly a rather shapely penis. Worse, the white glaze James had hidden inside was oozing out now, coating Draco's hands obscenely. Righting himself, Draco managed to look down his nose at the three Muggles in the alley.

"Carry on, then. The rubbish bins won't inspect themselves."

Then he stalked back into the kitchen and shut the door. Numbly, James reached over and pulled the window shut.

They stood there in silence with the pot roast burning a mark onto the table-top, the colossal penis beginning to melt in Draco's sticky, glaze-covered hands, and the muffled voices of the Muggles fading away.

**_Happy birthday?_ **

A wide and true smile spread over Draco's pointy face, bigger than any smirk or shit-eating grin or pinched laugh he'd shared before. His eyes squinted from the force of it, nearly disappearing between pink cheeks and furrowed brows. Draco laughed himself hoarse, hunched over and still cradling the travesty to his chest as if it were precious.

With a hideous thunk, the penis was finally deposited onto the table and in one motion, Draco - the smooth, sticky bastard - grabbed James's hands and pulled him in for their first kiss.

* * *

 

**June 10th, 2011: Friday**

The Ministry prosecutor was ruthless. Romilda Vane and Graham Montague never stood a chance. As he left Courtroom Number Ten, Ron felt a weight lift from his shoulders. This was it. They were doing it, he and Rachel. This case had started just months after the Battle of Hogwarts, it had simultaneously fueled and drained him during Auror training, and then it haunted him for over a decade.

Montague was sentenced to one year, Vane ten. Both were talented potioneers - along with Nott - but Vane had a special talent and a long-time romantic (read, obsessive) vendetta against Harry Potter. She was the one who altered every single one of his pain potions last fall, leading to his close call after Helen's mauling. (Ron would forever treasure the memory of Unspeakable Hermione Granger-Weasley explaining to the Wizengamot what a robot was and why it wasn't on trial as well.) Montague supplied the Polyjuice to disguise Anthony as Monty that winter, and they were only able to pin him with trafficking a regulated potion with malicious intent.

Nott, however, was still awaiting trial. It was a farce. He had carved out a plea deal, throwing out nearly a dozen names to save his own skin. He was the one to drug Zabini and zap Malfoy's hair off; he brewed and sent the Sparking Potion that nearly blew up Harry and Rachel; what was more, he'd even admitted that he was the one to entice Anthony into joining their "potions project" shortly after leaving Hogwarts. Of the three Starr's Apothecary potioneers, it was Nott who should rot in Azkaban for decades. But he was supplying the Department with information that had thus far taken down the largest Prism operation in Europe. So it would be house arrest for him, whenever his trial came around.

Looking at the damage Lucius Malfoy had caused, however, Ron wondered if house arrest would be enough.

* * *

 

**June 14th, 2011: Tuesday**

Draco could not stop thinking of oral and it was all James's fault. Potter's fault. He was Potter when he was mad at him. Charming when he was feeling frisky. Never Harry - a dull name, total romance killer.

Actually, Draco's new oral sex fixation was the fault of that lewd Muggle Gibbs, who apparently had used chocolate penises to woo and leer at James over the course of several years. It was brilliant, Draco was loathe to admit, and effective.

He wanted Charming's penis.

Over the weeks, he'd changed his schedule at St. Mungo's to take Mondays and Tuesdays off instead of the weekend. It lined up better that way so he and James could spend all of Monday together - playing chess, exploring parks, visiting museums, even catching a Quidditch game or two - and he could either have Tuesday to himself or help James with the mail-orders.

He should've stayed home that day, but instead he came in and promptly spilled a huge vat of custard on himself. James had cheerily given him a set of his own clothes so they could carry on with Tuesday's work. So there he was, alone in the upstairs flat, freshly showered, wearing a pair of joggers - Blaise could never know - and that hideous mustard-yellow hooded jumper that James was so fond of. But it was soft and the weight of it was oddly comforting and it smelled fresh and clean, like James.

Not quite ready to return to the Land of Precarious Vats of Custard, Draco took his time exploring the Charming flat in a way he hadn't before. The hall was narrow and the mismatched furniture made everything feel crowded. But large windows brought in plenty of light, and bright colors made the small spaces feel warm and comfortable.

A bookcase next to a little writing table was crammed full of books. Four teeming shelves of parenting books, from infant-care to planning for university. An entire row of Agatha Christie caught his eye, then two shelves of recipes, notebooks, and business manuals, and below that, a series of comic books in neat, vertical stacks on the bottom shelf.

While the entire bookcase was overflowing, the collection was meticulously organized and entirely free of dust, just like the rest of the flat. Words flickered through his head - _obsessive compulsion, anxiety, ritual-based meditation_ \- but he shoved them away. James was happy, who was Draco to pick that apart with clinical terms?

He turned away from the bookcase to find a stack of Muggle stationary on the writing table. Envelopes torn open, each letter read and replaced, then stacked up where the table met the wall. Spotting the name in the return address, Draco couldn't resist opening a few at random.

_James,_

_Allison says she's happy to take you in if you want to get away. I'll respect your decision, I'll leave you alone, but don't put yourself at risk just to prove a point. Pull the boys out of that crazy school and come to ours._

_Love,  
_ _Monty_

He searched, but there was no date. It came from the top of the stack so it may have been quite recent. His stomach churned.

_Jaybird - your friends are testing my patience but I promise I'll wait it out for you. You're worth it. You've always been worth it to me even when you didn't have anyone else. Please let me come back, I promise I'll make it up to you. We can both do better next time. We'll work it out so the boys can have a family again._

_Love,  
_ _Monty_

Draco wanted to spit. Textbook emotional manipulation. James had explained the bare bones of what went down between him and his Muggle - something about control issues, jealousy. Draco could take a guess what that meant. Gibbs never liked him and the feeling was mutual. He knew their therapy sessions had played no small role in Gibbs's descent into madness, but he also knew that James had dodged something horrible here. Or rather he hadn't dodged it, he'd actually been hit by it, no doubt hurt by it, and yet still managed to get out from under it before it crushed him.

_James,_

_Alec won't write me back. What did you say to him? I'm their dad too, they don't deserve you messing with their heads like this. They've been through enough. Tell him why you really threw me out and see if he still takes your side._ [scratched out ink] _pathetic game you're playing. I never said anything to Arthur about you wanting blond cock, I kept your filthy secrets, and you repay me by turning Alec against me! Shit father, like I said. What did you say to him? Let me through the new wards or at least write me back. Stop hiding!_

_Monty_

Draco read and reread that one, his mouth falling open. It was one thing to suspect, another to see it written out in blue ink. This must have been right after the breakup, sometime after the Polyjuice attack, though there was still no date. He decided to take that line, the one implying James wanted him, with a grain of salt...the man sounded unhinged.

_Shit father._

Seething, Draco stuffed the letter back in the envelope and stacked them all haphazardly again. He had no hope of disguising his nosiness, nor did he particularly want to. James had done plenty of reorganizing these past few weeks and had left these out for anyone to see.

Draco felt a stab of blind panic - what if he'd meant to keep them private? He was snooping a bit, fine, but was this the same as perusing the bookshelf? Oh Merlin. Oh shit! He was doing exactly what he'd hated Potter for doing at Hogwarts, poking his nose into other people's private business! And he didn't even have a prophecy to urge him onto such half-baked shenanigans! Draco's head snapped back sharply, as if he were just physically assaulted with how stupid and hypocritical he was -

He nearly leapt out of his skin when two arms encircled him from behind. The touch was more tentative than secure. He turned, looking down at James with a sneer automatically taking over even as his mind screamed words at him like _defense mechanism_ and _unhealthy conflict resolution_. James recoiled slightly, his eyes falling on the letters, and Draco felt like squid shit.

 ** _Crazy,_** James signed, looking up at him guardedly. Draco nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to. **_Better now._**

"Gibbs?" he choked out.

James shrugged noncommittally, looping one arm lightly - tentatively - around Draco's waist again as he reached over and grabbed a letter at random. He stared at Monty's name on the open envelope but made no move to read the message within.

"He is crazy," Draco asserted, watching James's face carefully. "In my professional opinion." _As a crazy professional who deals with crazies,_ his mind supplied bitterly. James didn't answer, only smiled at him in a vague way that looked more like a grimace before throwing the letter back on the table.

 ** _You look nice,_** he said.

Draco smirked and pulled his arms back around his waist firmly. Enough with this unsettled nonsense. He liked those arms around him, just as much as he liked wearing the disgusting mustard-yellow hoodie and the droopy joggers. It felt safe. Comfortable. Exciting. A little mad, but the good kind of madness that led to dark lords being defeated and worlds being changed.

* * *

 

**July 1st, 2011: Friday**

_James,_

_Good to hear from you. Learning lots in this bakers program, meeting some folks. People here in Paris aren't nice at all, it's a laugh. How are the boys? Alec wrote about his exams, I'm sure he did fine but you should check on the bugger. That Mr. Alan character ruined his confidence. Are those Starr's villains still around? Maybe I can score a set of poisoned biscuits off them. Don't quote me on that, I've had enough wizard bobbies following me this year._

_I mean it, thanks for writing. I miss you loads jaybird but I'm not coming back. I think we had a good run until the end. Best move on. I'm sorry for how it went down and for things I said. You hit the nail on the head about me pushing you too hard and I lost control. I promise you I'm trying to figure it out. I don't ever want to hurt someone like that again._

_Happy birthday. Don't know how long it'll take Lucy to get back but I'm sending some coffee cake through, hope it keeps. Give the boys my love._

[scratched out ink]

_Monty_

* * *

 

Having the boys home for the summer meant feeling both on top of the world and perpetually exhausted. One year ago today, he'd celebrated his birthday with Alec, Arthur, Monty, and a comically huge box of pizza. He marveled at how much had changed in just twelve months. He was a new man. Literally.

This year, he'd opted to wait for his actual birthday. They'd go to a Quidditch game on the 31st, the semi-final match before the World Cup. Today, he was coloring with Arthur in the kitchen while Alec showed Draco some of his inventions upstairs.

**_I like Draco._ **

James fumbled and dropped his colored pencil. It rolled off the table and hit the tile floor with a clatter. Arthur rolled his eyes and picked up his charcoal again, returning to his sketchbook as if he hadn't just dropped a nuclear bomb.

What could he say to that? What did it mean?

Weeks of deliberating had left him in limbo about whether to tell the boys about his new relationship or wait and see what happened, just in case things went south. James finally made the decision to confess after he spent nearly a whole evening using sign language with Draco. That was the night when he realized that the man wasn't going anywhere: Draco was committed to this and they had to be upfront with the kids. James told Alec and Arthur two weeks ago, their first night home, when it was just the three of them. He told them about how they could call him Draco instead of Mr. Malfoy if they'd like to, because he'd be around a lot more. They hadn't seemed surprised, exactly. Perhaps just surprised the conversation hadn't come sooner, like Scorpius had been.

He didn't know what he expected from them when they came home to a life of Draco and Scorpius popping by nearly every day. Monty had integrated into their lives so slowly, as his co-worker first, then his only friend, then his only employee, and _then_ his boyfriend. The boys hadn't given any...any declaration of approval, or permission. They'd simply gotten used to Monty over the years.

But Draco appeared out of nowhere for them. It was slow for James, starting in therapy and progressing from there (and then regressing to their Hogwarts years as he regained his memories - the timeline was all screwed up). But the boys had only met Draco over the Christmas holidays - during the Monty fiasco, no less! - before returning to Hogwarts for the spring term. They no doubt caught the speculative Prophet articles, but they didn't see or hear from Draco again until the disaster that was Easter hols, and then suddenly it was summer and James had to stumble through The Talk with them.

And then he had to follow it up with another Talk, because Alec was still asking questions about kissing.

Arthur hadn't said much about it since that day, but Alec had taken right to Draco, and even Scorpius. Arthur hadn't tried to freeze him out, which was James's chief concern at first, but he hadn't really warmed up to him either.

 ** _Me too,_** he finally said. Arthur snorted, muttered something under his breath, and flipped to a new page of his sketchbook. As he was turning the page, James remembered: **_Do you want to design a new logo?_**

 **_Shop?_ ** Arthur set his charcoal aside and blinked at him.

James nodded. **_I like old logo. Classic. Now want something new._ **

He tried not to squirm as Arthur stared at him like he was dissecting his soul. Finally, he smiled.

 ** _Yes!_** Inspired, he dove into his pencil box, looking for the right utensil. James waved to bring his attention back.

 ** _Your price?_** James asked, raising a brow and trying to maintain his best I Am A Business-Owner expression. His boy had skills. He would have to get used to negotiating commissions.

* * *

 

**July 30th, 2011: Saturday Night**

Draco watched with no small amount of petty jealousy as James played some sort of signing game with Scorpius. He wondered if his own father had refused to play with him as a child - who, with a soul, could deny a child their play? - or if Draco had simply forgotten those early memories.

The tiny Charming flat was rapidly becoming more like a home to him than Malfoy Manor had ever been. Not that he hated his childhood home...not exactly. It was tainted, of course, by the piss, shit, and tears of prisoners in their cellars, the screams of a certain bushy-haired Muggleborn in the west wing, the masked figures who held him and his family hostage under the threat of a glorified, animated, noseless corpse -

"Do you wanna play?" Arthur asked, looking between Draco and the others with a knowing expression.

"What are they playing?"

"A memory game. I start with a number an' a thing, then you repeat it and add yer own..."

**_Two idiots._ **

Draco blinked, carefully considering Arthur's smirk. Was he taking the piss…?

 **_Two idiots,_ ** he repeated as he thought of something to add. **_One television._ **

**_Two idiots, one television, four apples._ **

Not taking the piss then. He breathed a sigh of relief. Alec was perfectly friendly, but Arthur had been somewhat of a mystery to him. Relaxing, he lifted his hands to continue the game:

**_Two idiots, one television, four apples, sixteen candles._ **

Arthur laughed out loud at that but Draco didn't see what was funny. They went on and on like that, back and forth, until Arthur tripped up and added two things instead of one:

**_Two idiots, one television, four apples, sixteen candles, twenty-five sponges, eighteen boats, six toes, three mobiles, seventy-seven photographs, forty hams, two idiots, one bed._ **

Draco made a whooping sound and pumped his fist in the air triumphantly before Arthur's lingering smugness registered. He retracted his fist with a squeak just as James peered across the room curiously.

"You little shit!" he let slip in whispered horror, cheeks burning. Arthur snorted, sounding bizarrely like Weasley, before kicking Draco's shoe lightly and starting the game again.

This was so very different from what he had with the stiff and cold Lucius, who still spent his days puttering around the Manor under house arrest, no better or worse after being taken advantage of by Nott. This was even different from what he had with Scorpius, but not for lack of affection. It was just...different.

That night was the first time he slept over at the Charming home. They drank the most heinously delicious cocoa and made a blanket fort in the sitting room. Alec introduced them to a television program called Doctor Who. Scorpius was wary at first, but Alec told him how all the special effects were done and the seven-year-old went on to sing praises for Muggles in between recurring bouts of slight terror.

They all slept on a makeshift pallet on the floor, like a nest of animals. The boys crowded in on Draco's side, keeping Scorpius between them. James was left on the end, twitching and puttering about like an idiot, until Draco grabbed his arm and wrapped it around his own waist decisively.

Yes, life was very different.

* * *

 

**July 31st, 2011: Sunday Morning**

There was only one thing for it and that was to destroy the fort. He made the mistake of sleeping next to a very attractive man and of course he woke up with _needs_ and so it had to be done. The fort was coming down to mask his shame.

James gritted his teeth and rolled out from the pallet, crashing into the blanket wall and tearing down the whole contraption. The boys cried out and whined sleepily as pillows and cushions came crashing down on top of them, and still James kept rolling out to sea, wrapping himself in the sheet that was once their canopy.

"Whosit?"

_"Why?!"_

"No thank you..."

"Potter!"

Wrapped up tight like a burrito, adequately concealed, James smiled serenely and contemplated going back to sleep out there on the hard floor, several feet from the pallet. The boys grumbled and groaned before carting Scorpius down the hall to get ready for the day.

"Alright over there, Charming?" Draco asked, a distinct leer accompanying his raspy morning voice. Unable to respond with his hands pinned inside his personal fortress, James simply scowled. "Not too cold or...too hot?"

He scowled harder.

"I could lend some assistance," he continued, creeping to the edge of the pallet. James cocked his head in mock-curiosity, and couldn't help but notice that Draco was keeping his share of the blankets firmly in place over his lap.

"Waffles!" Arthur shouted, bursting out of the loo and leading the stampede down the stairs. James wasn't sure he would live to regret teaching them how to make waffles from scratch, but he was glad they were out of the room. With a lurching movement, he rolled back toward Draco, unwrapping himself as he went. Everything seemed, well, less _urgent_ now, but his heart was hammering.

"Nothing wrong with asking for help, you know," Draco said, bending low to press a quick kiss to his lips. James kept his mouth firmly clamped shut, mindful of his breath and not wanting to spoil the mood. There was something to be said about using sign language, especially in the mornings. "Unless you're still too much of a _coward_."

The way he said it made James sit up, eyeing him suspiciously.

**_Did Alexander tell you?_ **

**_Tell me what?_ ** Draco answered innocently.

 _Wanted to kiss a few boys but never got the courage,_ he'd written once to Alec. _HP is a coward._

Son of a -

A loud series of crashes and bangs foretold the chaos downstairs. With a synchronized eye roll that only parents could master, they both clasped hands and hauled each other to their feet. By the time they were washed and brushed and dressed, they were greeted downstairs by three perfectly angelic boys, which was most incriminating, and five plates of waffles with messy edges, which was a welcome consolation prize to what had been interrupted.

"Donna brought the post," Alec said, nodding to the counter. James stroked Donna - Anne, Lucy, Black Widow, whatever her name was - and picked up the Muggle stationary on his way to the table.

Monty.

Feeling light and only a little nervous, James grasped Draco's hand briefly in solidarity before tucking into his waffles. He didn't miss the not-at-all-subtle winking face drawn in syrup, nor Arthur's stupidly pleased grin. When James had eaten his fill and the boys were nattering on about their plans for the day, he quietly slit open the letter.

* * *

 

_James,_

_I'm in love. Don't laugh, it's true. True enough anyway and getting truer. He's a bit of a brute but plenty soft. Hails from Surrey, doesn't read much, thinks I'm barmy for writing a letter instead of just calling. Makes the best frosting I've ever tasted, wait til you try it._

_I'm not writing to rub it in, I'm just wondering if you still have that chocolate mold? You know the one. My special woo-ing mold. Don't write back and say you've lost it, I know you know where everything is in that kitchen so don't try to be coy to keep me celibate. If you play nice, I'll send you a cake covered in Dudley's frosting. Not an innuendo. That didn't come out right. Sorry._

_So? Penis mold?_

_Monty_

* * *

 

 

**_fin._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know it was a life-long dream of mine to end a 100k fic on "Penis mold" until it happened. Look at that. It's simply glorious.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed my first Drarry. (Actually my first romantic story, period!) (Can you even call this a Drarry if Draco refuses to call him Harry?) (I like Drames but it implies cross-gen.) (Drarming?) (Someone please teach me to end my sentences earlier so we avoid stupid shit like Drarming and penis mold.)
> 
> I'll be putting together a oneshot sequel so we can see a very Drarry Christmas, in which James gets his first Arthur Charming Original Tattoo! I'll add it onto this story as part of a series so I think if you subscribe, you should get a notification about it...?

**Author's Note:**

> Want to send me lovely encouragement so I'm inspired and feeling that warm bubbly feeling all day? Comment please!
> 
>  __Find me on[tumblr!](https://fantom-ftnoise.tumblr.com/)


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